Onyx (2 page)

“There must be a reason the
y’re searching for you.” The dockman looked over his shoulder and squinted into the sun as the king’s men got closer. “There may be a reward in it fer me if I turn ya in to them.” He scratched the back of his neck as he spoke.

“Ye know as well as I, they’ll say ye
’re only doin’ yer duty te the king. Now take the damned pouch. With this kind of coin, ye can do a hell of a lot. Think aboot it.” She slammed the pouch into his chest and held it there.

The dock
man looked back to the king’s men, and then up to the ship. He frowned, then slowly his lips turned upward into a smile. He spoke in a low voice, talking from the side of his mouth. “Ya keep yer bloody mouth closed about this as well,” he said, “and I’ll do it.” He snatched the pouch from her hand and hurriedly glanced inside it to inspect its contents. He then stepped aside, and let her pass.

“
Dinna worry aboot me keepin’ a secret,” she grumbled, pulling her hood back up over her head. “Fenella kens how te keep her mouth shut.” She hurriedly ran up the plank to board the ship. The dockman quickly pulled the plank away once she’d boarded, giving the ship the order to shove off quickly.

“Ya
do know what’s in the chest,” he called out, “don’t ya?”

“I dinna
care,” she said, waving her hand through the air, just happy to be getting aboard and away from the guards.

The king’s men approached him, and she saw him scratching his head and shrugging h
is shoulders. Thank the heavens she was going to get away with this after all. Her heart thumped rapidly against her ribs, and as she turned back around, she crashed into the chest of none other than the captain.

“Who are you, and what are you d
oing aboard my ship?” he asked.

“I’m – the healer,” she said, hoping to hell they didn’t already have one for their travels.

“I don’t remember hiring a healer to escort us to Scotland. And this is a trade ship. There are no women allowed.”

She looked over
the side of the ship, and knew since they were leaving port, the guards couldn’t catch her anymore. But she needed to make certain the captain didn’t decide to dock again and leave her on shore, or that could all change in an instant.

“I was sent by the king,” she blurted out, holding up her
hand and pretending to wave to the guards. They shouted and waved their fists in the air, and she knew that bastard dockman must have told them her secret after all. “King Edward has a . . . sick . . . cousin in Scotland. He sends me with you, to get there quickly to heal the man before he dies.”

“This is the first I’ve heard about it.”

“He just received the missive this morning,” she told him, once again pretending to wave to the king’s guards. She hoped the captain wouldn’t realize they weren’t shouting words of well wishes for her journey. “That’s why the king’s men are here – to escort me safely to the ship.” The dockman, the slimy bastard, waved back at her. She threw him a daggered look and quickly turned and talked to the captain. She pulled at her hood, once again trying to cover her Highland attire.

“All right,” said the captain with a nod.
“You can bed down on the deck and eat with the crew. But I am not responsible for what happens to you. And I don’t like the idea of having a woman aboard. It is almost as bad as that damned guard trying to get me to dump the Earl of Blackpool’s dead baby into the sea. I’m not going to be the one cursed for getting rid of a demon child.”

He walked away, leaving her at the rail. Suddenly, Fenella wondered if in her haste, she’d agreed to something that was almost as bad as her doomed fate had she’d stayed ashore.

She dug out the box from within her travel bag and balanced it atop the rail. She shivered, thinking a dead baby was inside, and she didn’t even want to gaze upon it. She was about to dump it over the edge and go find something to eat, when she heard the slightest whimper from inside the chest.

He
r heart almost stopped. She gazed down to the carved openings in the lid, and could see an orange eye peeking out at her. That was shocking enough that she’d almost dropped the box.

She quickl
y clutched it to her chest, looking around to make sure no one saw her. Then she hurried beneath the forecastle of the ship, hiding next to a few barrels tied together with rope. She sat down with the box in front of her, being sure to keep her distance. With one shaking hand she reached out slowly, then flipped open the lid and scooted backwards quickly.

Her body stiffened when she saw what was inside. A newborn babe, naked, an
d with a blue tinge to his skin. He looked up to her and smiled. Then, as he blinked, her gaze fastened on his one black eye, and the other of orange.

“Ye
are
a demon child,” she whispered, “’tis true.” Her hands covered her mouth so she wouldn’t cry out. She had half a mind to slam down the lid and take it back to the rail and dump it overboard anyway. But something about the boy touched a place in her heart.

She had no children. She had no husband anymore
, nor had she taken a lover. Neither was she respected by the rest of her clan, with her little vice that always led her to trouble. And she wasn’t even sure if her chieftain would even accept her back into the clan of the MacKeefes, especially if he ever found out she’d just killed an English baron.

Fenella had been an orphan, and also an outcast her entire life. She could see within the haunting eyes of this discarded baby, that he needed love – to be accepted as well. It was up to her now, if he lived or if he died. She knew if the captain found out, he’d throw the boy overboard himself, as he already thought the baby to be ill luck and also a demon. Not to mention, he’d think she was a curse, being the only woman aboard the ship, and probably throw her overboa
rd too.

Nay, she couldn’t tell him. And neither could she say anything when she got to Scotland. The king’s men were already looking for her, and there’d be no way she could return this baby to the earl of Blackpool. By the captain’s words, it sounded as if they all thought this baby was dead
anyway. Aye, she decided, this was another treasure of the nobles that she would add to her collection.

She gingerly picked up the naked body of the baby in her hands, and cuddled him to her chest. The Earl of Blackpool was the one who had given the order to dump the babe into the ocean
, the captain had told her. Well, anyone who gave an order like that was not to be trusted with a baby, nor did he deserve it. This was one more treasure she’d collect upon her journey and keep for herself, as she never shared. And this time she didn’t have to steal it – as it was handed right to her.

And as far as anyone knew, the baby was dea
d and at the bottom of the sea, so she was sure no one would ever come looking for the boy. She was safe where that was concerned. The baby’s mouth made sucking motions and she knew the poor thing was hungry. She was happy that he never seemed to cry. If so, their secret would be revealed.

She looked back into the small chest and spied an ornate dagger that had been hidden under the boy’s body. With one hand cradling the newborn, she plucked the dagger
from the box gingerly and held it up in front of her. Her heart started beating even faster with excitement of her new find.

It was breathtaking. ’Twas an et
ched metal in two tones, with a black stone embedded into the hilt. This was no normal dagger, as it looked to be very expensive. She had no idea why anyone would throw it away.

She laid it on her lap and ran her finger over the cracked stone, surmising the jagged
, orange line running through it. Then her gaze settled back on the boy. His eyes were just like this dagger’s stone. Black and orange. And more or less crazy. She recognized the stone as a black onyx, as she had stolen many gems in her lifetime from the nobles. But while she’d sold some of her treasures in the past, the ones she’d collected on this journey would stay with her forever.

“Onyx,” she said softly, and the baby cooed happily and reached out for
the dagger. “Ye like thet, dinna ye, me little bairn?” She let him grab her finger instead of the sharp blade. “Well, then I can see thet’ll be what I name ye. I’ll call ye Onyx,” she said with a smile, and noticed the baby smiling back at her. “And this dagger will be me first present I ever give ye – Son.”

This was a good omen, not a bad one, she decided. And she knew from this day on, her life was only goin
g to get better with her new baby boy – Onyx, at her side.

Chapter 1

Glasgow, Scotland, New Years
Eve, 1361

Onyx MacKeefe lay sprawled out across the floor of the
Horn and Hoof Pub
, unconscious, having fallen from his wooden stool after he’d downed his twentieth dram of Callum MacKeefe’s potent mountain magic. One dram for every year of his life, as it was his twentieth birthday.

“Well, I guess I still hold me title of the man ab
le to drink the most of me granda’s mountain magic and still stand afterwards.” Storm MacKeefe, the clan’s chieftain, banged his cup on the table and pushed to his feet, swiping back the long, blond braid at the side of his head, and let out a loud belch.

“Storm!” His English wife, Wren,
pushed through the crowd with their two-year-old daughter, Heather in her arms, and their seven-year-old daughter, Lark next to her. Lark held tight to the hand of her four-year-old brother, Hawke. “Stop all this nonsense and come to bed,” said Wren. “I’m going above stairs with the children, now come tell them goodnight as it is very late. And I am not sure I should have agreed to leaving the castle with them and spending the night in a pub in the first place.”

Storm reached over and kissed
her and then picked up Heather from her arms, kissing the little girl atop the head. This child was named for the special time he’d spent with Wren in a field of heather before they were married. He then ruffled the hair of Hawke, and smiled at Lark who looked just like her mother with her long, dark hair.

“Oh
, me
Lady Renegade,
’tis
Hogmanay
, and the wee ones want te wait up te see in the bells. And o’ course we should be here, as ye ken this place is special te me, as it is here I asked ye te marry me on this day, nine years ago.”

“Aye,
” she said. “But I must remind you this was also a spot that brought back some not so pleasant memories for me as well.”

“All right,” he agreed, knowing the rough r
oad Wren had come when he’d first met her. “I’ll come above stairs wit’ ye now, and tomorrow we’ll head back te Hermitage Castle. I only wish I coulda convinced me da and mathair te come along to celebrate with us, instead of stayin’ at the MacKeefe camp.”

Hogman
ay, or New Years Eve, was a big night for celebrating, and old Callum MacKeefe’s pub was known to service not only Lowlanders, but also the Highlanders, and even some of the English from across the border. The Highlanders did not welcome the English as easily as the Lowlanders, but since Storm took over Hermitage Castle near the border, things were different. And while Clan MacKeefe had once hated all English, that wasn’t the case anymore. Storm’s mother, Clarista was English, and Storm had married an Englishwoman as well. But unfortunately, not everyone agreed with this acceptance of the English so easily.

Suddenly,
a scream went up from the crowded room, and everyone started forming a circle around Onyx who still lay prone on the ground.

“He’s dead!” A woman shouted.

“Aye, his eyes are open but he’s bloody well dead, all right,” said a man. “He’s even turning blue.”

“What?” Storm quickly handed his children off to h
is wife. “Take the
weans
upstairs, quickly,” he told her, and pushed his way through the crowd and looked down at the man he’d been having a drinking competition with just moments before.

Storm felt awful for insisting Onyx drink with him now, but after all
, it was Hogmanay, and also the boy’s birthday. And Storm, more than anyone, always loved a competition.

He
’d never thought of Onyx as a boy, but rather a man. He was taller than any of the clansmen, and his body was mature beyond his years. And he was a madman just like Storm – or at least how Storm used to be, until he’d married Wren and also been elected chieftain of the MacKeefe clan. He knew he had to be responsible now, and his little game may have just cost the boy his life.

“What’s all the
stramash
aboot?” Storm’s grandfather, Callum MacKeefe pushed his way through the crowd with Storm’s eldest son, Renard, of eight and ten years at his side. The old man spied Onyx lying on the ground, and shook his head. “No one dies in me pub. He’s probably jest knocked out from me mountain magic, as it has a way of doin’ thet te the meek ones.”

“Da, is he dei
d?” asked Renard, pushing a stray strand of red hair from his face. His cheeks were flushed from drinking with the rest of them, and it seemed like just yesterday that he was only a boy.