Heart of the Druid Laird (20 page)

“My lord, if I might be so bold.” Rhyn laid a hand on his arm. “The mortal woman’s presence has caused quite a stir. Several of our nobles have petitioned the king to keep her here indefinitely.”

Dermot scowled. “He will no’ grant their request, will he?”

“Áine’s actions have put Dagda Mór in a bind.” Rhyn shrugged. “We cannot reproduce within our own race. The only way we can have children is by—”

“What has that to do with Sidney?”

“She’s human. I would think the ramifications are obvious.” He shook his head sadly. “It has been far too long since we’ve heard the laughter of children in our realm.”

“Are your people no’ free to seek lovers elsewhere?” The thought of Sidney being used as a broodmare turned him inside out.

“The women are free to leave. The men are not. Once a daughter of the goddess Danu conceives, she bonds irrevocably with the babe’s sire. As long as our king prohibits the women from bringing their human mates home, they refuse to conceive. It is a battle of wills that has lasted eons.”

“And your men? Why do they no’ take lovers?”

“None outside of our own kind visit here anymore. The elves used to, but they have their own problems and never did like sharing their women.” He sighed. “Where human women are concerned, our males are lusty and promiscuous. They seldom share the same woman’s bed long enough to find they’ve sired a child. Dagda Mór cannot tolerate the idea of a large population of halflings creating havoc in your world. That is why he will not allow the men to leave.”

“Gods,” Dermot muttered.

“Exactly.” Rhyn nodded. “If Dagda Mór does not grant their request, it could cause an insurrection. If he wishes to avoid bloodshed, his options are few. Keep the mortal woman here, allow humans into our realm or let the men leave.”

“How am I to get Sidney free of this place?”

“I cannot say.” Rhyn gave him a sympathetic look. “I meant only to warn you to tread carefully. The undercurrents are treacherous.”

“When are they not with your kind?” His gaze strayed back to Sidney. Seeing her surrounded by so many men had him reaching for the sword that should have been at his side.

“It will do you no good, my lord. Any of the males standing with your woman can send you back into an enchanted sleep, and only the
Tuatha
who puts you there can wake you. It’s best you keep your feelings well hidden.”

“Shite.” Dermot rubbed his temples. Music announced the king’s arrival, and all those assembled bowed low.

The moment Sidney saw Dermot enter the courtyard, she wanted to run away and hide so she could lick her wounds in private. His betrayal made her ache inside, and looking at him brought tears to her eyes. Instead, she threw up her defenses, nurtured her anger and suppressed the hurt. She laughed at the inane conversation going on around her. The men gave her odd looks. She had no idea what had just been said.

Music announced Dagda Mór’s arrival. She’d spent the past few weeks trying to talk the king into letting her and Dermot end the damned curse so she could go home. Dagda Mór put her off, telling her Dermot needed to recover from his ordeal first. Recover from his ordeal? What for? So he could turn to dust while in the peak of health?

Her palms started to sweat, and her stomach flipped. What if the king placed her next to Dermot. Or worse, what if he didn’t?

“Please.” Dagda Mór gestured toward the table. “Come. Sit. It is time to welcome our newest guest.” His voice filled the courtyard. “Sidney, I would have you on my right. Diarmad, you will sit beside her.”

Sidney took her place and tried hard to breathe. Dermot leaned close, sending shivers down her spine.

“We need to talk,” he whispered.

“I’m not sure I want to talk to you,” Sidney answered for all to hear.

Servers moved around the table, filling wine goblets and placing plates filled with roasted fowl, vegetables and bread before each guest. She couldn’t eat. Hoisting the goblet, she emptied the contents in a few swallows and held it up for a refill. She’d take courage in any form tonight.

“Go easy, lass. We need our wits about us.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she hissed. “You lied to me, and we have nothing more to talk about.” Her eyes stung. Sidney turned away and blinked the tears back.

“I’m sorry. I meant to tell you everything the day you were taken.”

“I’m sure you did,” she snapped. “Sidney, I want you. I’m going to make you mine,” she mimicked. “Oh, by the way, did I mention I only have two weeks left to
live?
”

“Áine’s actions have taken any choice I may have had out of my hands.” Dermot grasped her arm. “We
must
talk, and soon. You’ve no idea what’s going on here.”

“Oh, don’t I?” She glared at him. “While you’ve been getting your beauty rest, I’ve been fending for myself in this Pit-of-the-Fae soap opera. Let me tell
you
what’s going on. The women resent me. The men look at me like I’m some kind of Pez dispenser for their faerie babies, and their king can’t decide what the hell to do about us. Don’t tell
me
I don’t know what’s going on.”

“I was
forced
to sleep.” Dermot gazed around the table, and lowered his voice. “How long have we been here?”

Sidney glanced at the king out of the corner of her eye. Dagda Mór appeared to be deep in conversation with the woman to his left, but she knew he was listening. Why else put her next to Dermot? “It’s been weeks. You’ve been asleep for weeks,” she whispered. “See that man across the table six down from us? The one who’s scowling your way.” She shuddered in revulsion. “He and several others have demanded that the king keep me here indefinitely to—”

“I ken the reasons well enough.”

Her goblet refilled, Sidney sucked the contents down and held it up again. She already felt the effects and welcomed the fuzzy-headedness dulling her pain. None of the options being considered by the fae court benefited her in the least. What if Dagda Mór caved to the demands of his male subjects? She’d never see her family or friends again, and Dermot was already lost to her no matter what.

She pinched Dermot’s arm. “What have I done to deserve this crapfest?”

Dermot took her hand, squeezing it hard. “Ease up on the wine.”

“You know what?” She snatched her hand back just as a servant refilled her goblet. “You’re no better than Áine. You both manipulated me, and you both lied. Only for different reasons. Were you afraid if you told me you were gonna die in two weeks you wouldn’t get laid?” She huffed in disgust. “Seems to me the truth would’ve been a great ploy for pity sex.”

A hush descended around the table as the fae watched them in fascinated silence. “Speaking of Áine—” Sidney turned toward Dagda Mór, “—your daughter is seriously lacking a moral compass, Your Highness.”

Dagda Mór’s jaw clenched, and Sidney’s stomach knotted. Still, she couldn’t seem to stop the train-wreck spewing out of her mouth. It had all been too much. Any minute now she was going to humiliate herself by crying in front of the entire party. Her nerves were shredded, and her anger could no longer be contained. Gulping more wine, Sidney tried to find an upside. Ah, yes. The more she annoyed Dagda Mór, the less likely he’d be to keep her around.

“Hush,” Dermot hissed, his eyes darting to Dagda Mór.

“Hush?”
she hissed back. “What for?” She lifted her goblet and gestured toward the seated guests. “Everyone present already knows the whole sad story, right?” She stared at the fae seated at the table in challenge. “In a nutshell, Dermot’s been fucking me, and Áine tried to kill me.” She cupped her hand around her mouth and stage-whispered, “It’s against their laws to kill humans. Did you know that?”

She nodded toward Dagda Mór. “The king here sent his daughter to her room without any supper.” She snorted at her own joke. “The years have not been kind to Áine have they, Your Highness? I hate to say it, but she has become one petty, vindictive, selfish
bitch.
”

A collective gasp rose from around the table as Dagda Mór stood with his arms upraised. He glowed and crackled with electric blue light, fixing her and Dermot in his ice-blue glare. The courtyard shimmered and shifted. The edges faded to black.

Dermot groaned beside her and dropped his face into his hands. Sidney leaned close to snarl into his ear while she still could. “See? I do know what’s going on. You’re not the only one who can twist people into doing what you want them to do. Now Dagda Mór has no choice but to kick us out of his realm as fast as he can. We can get this whole damned curse thing over with, and I can go home.
This
is what you paid me for, what you manipulated me into.” Her heart shattered into a million pieces. “Your curse will end. You, Thomas and the rest of your men will turn to dust. You should be thanking me.”

His anguished eyes met hers. “I have an obligation to my men. If it could be any other way—”

“Shut. Up. I’ve had enough dishonesty to last a lifetime.”

Freezing cold and alone, Sidney found herself on top of a barren hill overlooking the sea. Maybe she’d pushed the faerie king too hard, and he’d decided to let her die in the elements. Rubbing her arms against the frigid air, she searched the area for signs of habitation, rising smoke from a fireplace chimney, or the twinkle of village lights in the distance. She would gladly walk if it meant a warm place inside someone’s home or even a gas station.

What had become of Dermot? What if her actions had angered Dagda Mór to the point where he’d never let Dermot and his men out from under Áine’s thumb? The hurt came back in a rush, and she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. Dermot had told her his ambivalence was gone. He’d led her to believe he wanted a future with her. And she’d gone for it. She’d trusted him with her heart, and all along he knew he’d be dead in a few days.

Lied to, betrayed, kidnapped, held in a place she didn’t even know existed, and almost died. To top it all off, now she was stuck in the middle of nowhere wearing nothing but a stupid faerie gown and a thin pair of slippers. She wanted to sob or pitch a fit, and she would’ve too, if it weren’t for the fact that she was in serious trouble and couldn’t spare the energy.

She hugged herself and fought to remain calm. Dawn streaked gray and pink over the eastern horizon. The wind shifted and picked up, carrying with it phantom sounds and shouting voices. She strained to listen and searched for the source. Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement, a man. Dermot? She turned quickly. No one was there. It happened again, and a chill went through her that had nothing to do with the temperature. Terrified, the instinct to get away from this haunted place clawed at her insides.

More images appeared in her peripheral vision. Only now they remained when she looked their way. Ghost men and women carrying wooden pails and shovels, wearing rough woven clothing and animal skins, they all ran in the same direction. She turned to see what they were running toward, and their images solidified before her eyes. Unease prickled her skin.

A building burned at the base of the hill. The sound of horses screaming in fright rent the air, and smoke rolled up the hill, stinging her eyes and making her cough. People scrambled around in chaos, throwing dirt and water toward the flames. Warriors shouted orders and led terrified animals out of the flames. Sidney watched the tableau in horror. The sense of impending doom filled her with dread.

The world around her shifted, and an unseen forced tugged at her. Thatched huts materialized before her eyes, next came a wall made of timber with sharpened tips. Walls went up around her in a rush and she fell into…someone else.

Sidney sat on a bench at a large trestle table in a primitive hall with a dirt floor covered with straw. She knew this place, knew what it looked like from the outside—from her drawings. A tiny garment of wool lay in her lap and a sewing basket sat on the table in front of her. Only she wasn’t Sidney. Another’s thoughts reverberated inside her head. Her husband—
Diarmad
—had forbidden her to help put out the stable fire raging outside the curtain wall. He’d left her with orders to stay inside their keep with her companion and one guard.

A woman sitting across from her spun wool into yarn with a small hand-held spool. “Do you hear that, Mairéad?” her companion asked. “There’s quite a ruckus going on outside.”

Iselda.
Sidney recognized her immediately, and at the same time knew this woman and Zoe were one. The odd sensation of being two people in one body freaked her out. Her thoughts and Mairéad’s clamored inside her simultaneously. Confused, she looked down at herself and saw only her twenty-first-century form.

“Is the babe acting up?” Iselda smiled fondly her way.

In shock, Sidney nodded and looked down at herself again. This time she glimpsed the image Iselda saw. Her belly was distended in the last stages of pregnancy. A thick blond braid hung over her shoulder.
Mairéad. I’m Mairéad.

“Aye, she’s sitting on my bladder again.” The words left her mouth unbidden. Sidney tried to speak her own words. Nothing came out.

Sidney tried to move the hand now rubbing her belly. She couldn’t. It was like sitting in the backseat of a car someone else drove. Fully aware, but no longer in control, all she could do was go along for the ride.

Iselda shook her head. “I still find it hard to believe you ken for certain it’s a lass.”

“I’ve explained it to you.”

“Och, aye. Ye send your spirit to visit with the bairn.” Iselda raised an eyebrow at her. “’Tis no’ fair. Can ye no’ teach me to do the same? Think of all the good I could do for our clan.”

“For the clan you say?” Mairéad snorted. “How does knowing the gender of our bairns before they’re born
help
our people?”

“Oh, all right,” Iselda muttered, giving her a sheepish look. “It would help me.”

Mairéad smiled at her friend. “Nay, I cannot teach you, but when the time comes, and you and young Thomas await the birth of your own bairn, I’ll do the same for you.”

“Ye
do
ken it drives Thomas mad when you and Dermot refer to him as young.”

“Of course we know. That’s why we do it.” Mairéad laughed. “As lovable as Thomas is, you must agree he’s a bit immature.”

“Muddleheaded, ye mean.” Iselda grinned. “Och, the lad is lost without me. His head is always in the clouds. My lad’s a dreamer.”

Their banter felt so familiar, Sidney ached to see Zoe. Even more, she wanted to protect her. The instinct to get away came back full force, but no matter how hard she tried, Sidney had no control over anything. Lachlan had told her the story, and the role she played was eerily familiar. Poor Iselda had no idea what was about to happen.

Why hadn’t Dermot told her she’d become Mairéad? Must she relive all the events from that day? She’d believed Dermot cared for her, and look where that belief had brought her.
This is so eff-ing unfair.

“There it is again.” Iselda put her work down and rose from the table, concern clouding her features. “Och, listen to me. If aught were amiss, Dermot would send your guard to us with all haste.”

“Aye, they’re probably having trouble with the kine, is all,” Mairéad replied.

No, no, no. Get out!
Sidney tried to scream inside Mairéad’s head.
Leave, run!
She felt as if she’d go crazy. Every cell in her body urged her to get away, and yet she was powerless to move. Her actions and words were fixed, everything exactly as it had occurred on that fateful day.

Iselda walked over to one of the three braziers set at intervals throughout the large hall. Glowing lumps of coal warmed the room only marginally. She picked up a poker and gave the contents a stir. Black smoke rose to the soot-covered rafters. She froze. Her eyes went wide with fright. “’Tis the sound of steel against steel. Our clan is engaged in battle. Do ye hear it?”

Iselda hurried toward a window just as a commotion toward the rear of the keep drew their attention. Lachlan, their one guard, shouted for help at the top of his lungs. Grunts of exertion and the sound of clashing weapons filled the air, drawing nearer.

“Mairéad, Iselda, run! Find Diarmad. Go!” Lachlan yelled.

Holding the iron poker up as a weapon, Iselda yelled, “Mairéad, come to me.”

Mairéad struggled awkwardly to rise from her place. Lachlan backed into the room, followed by six mercenaries, all attempting to strike him down. She covered her belly in a protective gesture. The fierce need to protect her unborn child sent a surge of adrenaline through her, propelling her toward the door.

Lachlan fought valiantly, holding their attackers back to give them time to escape. Reaching for the dagger at her belt, Mairéad rushed to Iselda’s side, tugging her toward the door behind her. “We need to leave.”

“No, you go. Once you’re out, I’ll follow.” Two of the mercenaries broke away from the group battling Lachlan.

“Dinna argue. Get going, dammit!” Lachlan swore. With a mighty sweep of his broadsword, he sent the four remaining warriors reeling back, and attempted to chase after the two who meant to cut them off from their escape.

“Mother, come to me! We need you now!”
Mairéad sent a plea to Áine through their link as kin.
“Why do you not answer? Come to me.”
She ran for the door. One of the men grabbed her gown. Mairéad cut the fabric with her dagger and kept going. Glancing back, she saw Lachlan fall. Blood gushed from his head where he’d been struck from behind, and the remaining warriors surged toward them. The two closest barred the door from them.

Their way blocked, Mairéad fought for her life back-to-back with Iselda. Both of them tried desperately to get close enough to the door to escape. The six warriors split. Three circled her, effectively separating her from Iselda. Panic exploded in Mairéad’s chest. She couldn’t let anything happen to her bairn. A warrior rushed her, grabbing her wrist so hard her bones cracked. Kicking, scratching and screaming she fought to break his hold. He wrenched the dagger from her hand.

Mairéad went wild with fear as she glanced toward Iselda. Her friend had been overpowered. The poker lay on the floor by her feet. Their enemies taunted and laughed at Iselda’s terror, tossing her from one to the other.

The man assailing Mairéad grabbed her hair, jerked her around and thrust her own dagger into her ribcage just below her left breast. His work done, he left her to die and joined the men torturing Iselda. In disbelief, Mairéad stared down at the dagger protruding from her body. Searing pain burned through her. Blood stained her gown crimson.

I don’t want to die. My baby…My poor baby. Mother! Come to me. Why do you not answer?
Falling to her knees, Mairéad held her breath against the pain. Pressing both of her hands against the wound, she tried to stop the bleeding. Horrified, she couldn’t tear her eyes away as the six men toyed with Iselda. For an instant, their eyes met, and Iselda’s anguish became her own.

They cut her friend’s clothing away bit-by-bit while pawing and groping at her body. When Iselda fought back, they pummeled her face and body with their fists. Iselda was naked now, and two men held her down, pressing her face into the hard surface of the table. Mairéad closed her eyes. Iselda’s screams tore her heart in two.

Her mother could stop this. Áine could do anything.
Why hasn’t she come?
Mairéad forced her heartbeat and breathing to slow. Concentrating as hard as she could to get past the pain, she sent herself out of her body. Following the connection they shared as kin, she raced against time to her mother. In seconds, Áine’s castle lay before her. Mairéad flew through the window to Áine’s bedchamber. There she found her tangled amidst naked men and women—passed out cold.

The room reeked of stale wine and sex, and Mairéad’s panic rose to a frenzied pitch. She tried to rouse her mother. Without her body, all she could do was shout inside her head. Áine didn’t stir. Mairéad plummeted into despair. Without Áine, she had no hope. She tried over and over to wake her. Her efforts were useless.

Knowing she had only moments left to live, Mairéad returned to her pain-racked body and prayed her husband would come in time. It was too late for her, but not for their babe. She’d have Diarmad take the child from her womb. At least she’d die knowing their precious daughter would live on.

The stench of charred flesh burned the inside of Dermot’s nose. Men shouted and fought all around him. Women and children screamed, while the groans of the dying were everywhere. Dermot spun around, reaching for weapons he no longer carried. He recognized his kin, knew the instant he opened his eyes where he was—and when.

Dermot tried to pick up a fallen sword to lend aid to his people. The blade slipped through his hand like smoke. “Mahon, here to me!” he shouted to a warrior nearby. His clansman gave no sign that he heard Dermot. He looked right through him. “No,” Dermot shouted. “This isn’t right.”

Dagda Mór appeared beside him, Áine firmly in his grasp. “It is as I mean it to be.”

“You,” Áine snarled, lunging for Dermot.

“Be still, or I will force your compliance,” Dagda Mór commanded.

“Where is Sidney?” Dermot cried, an awful suspicion crowding his thoughts. “She should no’ have to suffer through this. None of it has anything to do with her.”

“Does it not?” The king tilted his head as he regarded Dermot. His eyes glowed with angry blue light. “The human has been like a gnat buzzing around my face, begging for the end of your curse. I have granted her wish. She relives Mairéad’s ordeal as we speak.”

“By the gods, you would no’ be so cruel.” Dermot’s gaze flew to his keep, already smoldering, it would soon burst into flames. He started toward it.

“Cruel?” Dagda Mór stopped him. “You will not always see it thus, Druid. You, better than anyone, should know. If you do not resolve whatever remains between the two of you now, this life shall haunt you both into your next and beyond. This is the only way.”

“Nay. You do this to satisfy your own anger. Sidney acted out of concern for me and my men, and you’re punishing her.” He pointed at Áine. “Sidney has been a pawn in your daughter’s twisted game, and now yours. There is nothing for her to resolve.”

“My games?” Áine sneered. “What of the games
you’ve
played, Druid? You compelled Sidney, seduced her, and all the while you kept the truth of your demise to yourself.”

Dagda Mór quelled Áine with a look. “No real harm will come to the mortal. We must go to her now. Her part in this is ending.”

“Why is Áine here? She wasn’t here on the day of Mairéad’s murder.” The thought of Áine’s presence during his last moments with Mairéad could not be borne. While his wife lay dying in his arms, he’d called to Áine for help. She never came. “Send her away. I don’t want her here.”

“She will witness my granddaughter’s death. I have my reasons, Druid. Come.” Dagda Mór glided through the battlefield toward the keep.

Every cell in his body rebelled. Dermot didn’t want to relive this horror. He’d already suffered through losing Sidney twice—the first time when she fell off the cliff, and the second when Áine had tried to kill her. How many times could one man watch his beloved die without losing his mind? Had he believed love was for the weak? He’d been wrong. Only the strongest of men could survive such agony.