Released (7 page)

“That’s why you lived, isn’t it?”  Kathryn continued as though she hadn’t noted his arrival.  “Because Fae magic cannot affect one of
The Returned
or
The Rewarded.
” Her sky-blue eyes glittered with soft curiosity tinged with concern.  Clad only in a thin white nightgown and slippers, Kathryn hovered on the edge of the pool of water.  Her soft, graceful hands clasped in front of her as she took in the chaos.

Rory admired her calm demeanor, thankful that he had the presence of mind to cover in his tartan at least when he and Katriona had been arguing.  “I’m sorry this disturbed you, my lady.”

“The bloody hell is this, MacKay?”  Fraser shouldered past his guard and daughter, his slipper squishing into cold, soiled water.  His face turned a deeper shade of red.  “Someone tell me what cursed noise awoke me.  I felt as though my head would split in two!”

“They’ve a Banshee, Papa,” Kathryn informed him as though she was discussing a new hound, putting a hand on his shoulder and drawing him back from the water.

“A— a Banshee?”  His beady eyes widened to an almost normal size, eyelids disappearing into the sleep-swollen bags beneath.  “I wouldn’t believe such nonsense had I not heard it for myself!” 

“A remnant of my brother Angus’s short and violent reign, sir.”  Rory stepped forward, aware that his skin and hair still was still slick with moisture. 

Kathryn seemed to have noticed, her gaze sliding down his body along with chilly droplets from his hair.  So did Albert, who glared poison at him through narrowed eyes.

“Are we in danger?” Albert demanded.  “Should we be gone from here?” 

Rory froze, feeling as though everything he needed was slipping through his fingers and spilling to the floor.  Not just for his future, but for the survival of their clan.  What if the Frasers left?  What if Katriona’s vengeance caused everyone to starve?

“Don’t be silly, Albert,” Kathryn chided.  “Everyone knows a Banshee is no danger to anyone else until her vengeance is complete.  If her aim was your brother, Laird, then she’s harmless as anything but a nuisance.  If you were her intended victim, then she’ll fail to kill you and give up eventually.”

“Ye call this harmless?”  Lorne’s voice boomed.  I’m going to have to read yer lips for who knows how long!” 

Kathryn shrugged delicate shoulders.  “Are you closely related to the Laird?”

The men looked at each other.  “Second cousins, I believe,” Rory supplied. 

“Well, there you have it.”  She looked pleased.   “Perhaps you’re a wee more susceptible because of your blood, but still in no real danger.”

“The danger of goin’ deaf seems danger enough,” Lorne muttered.

Rory ignored him.  “How do ye know I’m
An
Dìoladh?
”  He could kiss her for her level head.  But wouldn’t, of course.  Not with the sweet taste of Katriona still lingering on his lips. 

Shame heated his chilled skin.  How could he dally with Katriona when a woman like this was waiting for him?  She was one of the innocent.  Still alive.  Still hopeful. Obviously prone to optimism.  This was what he wanted. 

Wasn’t it?

“Even we Lowlanders enjoy Highland gossip.”  She gifted him with a self-effacing smile that enhanced her sweet, golden loveliness.  “A bard of Inverness was there the day you awoke all those years ago.  He wrote a lyric entitled ‘Rory’s Return.’” 

Rory blinked.  “There’s a song about me?” 

“Aye, didn’t you know?”  She looked at him through shy lashes and Rory summoned a smile for her.  “Maybe I’ll sing it for you sometime.”  His fiancé was such a beauty.  But when she looked at him with soft suggestion he felt—nothing.  No stir of arousal.  No flicker of anticipation.  

Albert snorted.

“Yes yes, very good.”  Fraser swatted at Albert and shooed at his daughter.  “Let the Laird get cleaned up.  We’ll discuss this in the morning."  Before leaving, he shot a serious look at Rory that told him he wasn’t in the clear just yet, thousand men or not.

Once the door shut behind them, Rory turned to Lorne.  “Are ye all right?”

Lorne nodded, itching at his ear.  “Aye, it’s starting to get better,” he said in a more normal register.

“Thank ye, for rushing in when ye did.  How was it that ye were so close to my chamber?”

Shadows appeared in Lorne’s eyes and his arms dropped to his side.  “I didna want to say with yer lady here and all, but I was coming to wake ye about a different matter altogether.”

Rory’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“More disturbing news from the clan,” Lorne stated reluctantly.  “A flock of crows flew into Achfery and old Hamish MacKay died at his own supper table thirteen minutes after they arrived.  And more herds are said to be struck dead or ill in the Balkins.  The clan elders want to meet tomorrow night to discuss what is to be done.” 

A headache burned behind Rory’s eyes and he pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Think ye it has to do with the Banshee?”  Lorne asked.  “Or her mother?”

“I’m starting to believe it’s so,” Rory sighed.  “Did ye know that Angus burned them to death?”

Lorne lifted a hand to the back of his neck.  “I had my suspicions, what with his frustration over the middle one and her refusal of him.  He… really went a violent kind of mad toward the end there.”

Rory could do nothing but nod. 

“What do ye want to do about this?” Lorne asked.

Katriona’s face swam in front of Rory’s eyelids.  Her rage covered a pain wrought by anyone’s greatest terror realized and the memory of her flesh melting from her bones in a fire his own brother ignited.  Once there had been warmth behind the bright green of her gaze, an endearing vulnerability.  A need to be loved for who she was and not overlooked. 

That need had spoken to Rory in a very powerful way.  He’d often fantasized of gathering the courage to offer to fill that need. 

His brother had stopped him, of course.  Truth be told, he dared not bring a woman into the same household as his family.  Though he’d grown large and strong enough to deter any danger from his father, he’d always worry about the safety of a wife.

No woman should have to live like that.

The mistrust and fear of her family had also seemed like an insurmountable obstacle.  He’d known they regarded him the same as both his father and brother. 

Monster and marauder. 

Despite his best efforts, nothing had changed. 

“Should we send ‘round for the old washer woman?” Lorne suggested.

Rory thought of their dire situation.  If the herds died, his clan starved.  If they were weak, their enemies the Sutherlands would sweep through with destruction like they’d never seen and leave their bones for the MacLeods to pick over.

But could he submit an old woman to burn for the second time in her life to appease the masses?  Didn’t that make him as much a monster as his brother and father?  What if it was one of Katriona’s sisters wreaking the curse upon the land and he angered them further?  Kathryn could very well be mistaken regarding their harmlessness. 

“Nay,” Rory gritted out.  His mind was made up.  The Banshees had to be dealt with, and he only knew of one man powerful enough to rid him of them. 

“Send for the Druid.”

Chapter Six

The washhouse nestled beneath a gently sloped but tall hill on the banks of Loch Caladail.  The icy sea wind that blew from Cape Durness screamed through the craggy limestone gorge on the opposite side of the knoll and broke upon the hill, buffeting the ruins from the worst of the foul weather. 

Katriona turned to Kylah, who perched next to her atop the large pile of unused firewood, watching their mother fitfully sleep in the unused hearth beneath a warm pile of old furs.  “She cannot go on living like this,” Katriona muttered.  “I’m surprised she lasted the winter without a fire.”

“’Tis her hatred that keeps her alive.”  Kylah didn’t take her eyes from Elspeth to reply.  “And the warm food and layers of clothing that are left.”

“And us.”  Kamdyn supplied from the stony arch that was all that was left of their doorway.  “She doesn’t want to leave us behind.”

Katriona didn’t tell Kamdyn the dark thoughts she’d been harboring about their mother during the last few days.  Elspeth had been inconsolable after the death of their father for months.  She hadn’t been strong enough to cope with losing her daughters the way she did.  She’d cast a spell and struck a deal with a Faerie to keep her daughters from leaving
her
alone.  Not the other way around. 

“Any sign of it?” she asked after the bundle of food and supplies delivered regularly under their alder tree.  Every day except for Sundays. 

Kamdyn shook her head, her lovely copper hair stirring with the movement.  This had been the second time she’d gone to check, and the tree remained empty. 

It was only Thursday.

“You never did tell us if you had any luck at the Laird’s keep today.”  Kylah still didn’t meet her eyes, but she’d had trouble with eye contact since that horrible night.  Her gaze rarely left the ground.  Her voice rarely rose above a whisper.  She was truly a shade, lurking about in the shadow of her grief and pain and, Katriona suspected, her shame. 

Katriona herself battled shame as she felt the full weight of her sisters’ expectant stares.  How could she confess to them that she’d not only failed them, but she’d further betrayed their purpose by allowing Rory to kiss her?  Worse than that, she’d kissed him back. 

And liked it. 

More than liked it.  Even now, in the chilly wee hours of a misty Highland spring morning, the heat of Rory’s mouth still lingered on her lips.  She felt—singed by an invisible brand, weakened by the soft emotions threatening to leach his warmth into her cold heart. 

And yet, a part of her became angrier at the thought of what had happened between them in his chambers.  He’d waited until she was
dead
to act upon his desire for her, to introduce her to yearnings never to be fulfilled and pleasures always to be denied.  Then he’d shown her the love he’d borne his evil brother and ended their interlude with ridiculous accusations.

Rory obviously didn’t understand Fae curses.

“Katriona?”  Kamdyn’s worried prompting brought her back to the grey-tinged present.  “You look so bleak.  Did he do something to harm you?”

“Nay,” Katriona answered gently.  “What can he do to harm me now?  It was I who hurt him.” 
And he’d liked it.

“But he still resisted you?”  Kylah asked.  Her soft green light pulsed brighter, but the emotion never reached her lovely almond eyes.

Rory absolutely hadn’t resisted her.  “I was again unable to kill him,” Katriona evaded.

“What happened?”  Kylah persisted.

“Someone’s coming.”  Kamdyn’s worried proclamation saved Katriona from having to decide whether to lie to her family or worse, tell them the truth. 

“Who is it?” she demanded. 

“I don’t know, but I see a lantern there, through the mist.”  Kamdyn pointed to where the road, more like a well-worn path a few spans from their ruins, led around the Loch toward the wide and shallow waters of the Kyle of Durness.  “There have been rumblings in the village of witchcraft,” Kamdyn worried.  “I overheard someone talking about coming for mother the night before last.”

“They won’t harm her,” Katriona vowed. 

“But we’re powerless against anyone until we carry out our vengeance, and there’s no chance of that now,” Kylah despaired. 

“We’re still Banshees, are we not?” Katriona hissed. 

“Aye,” Kamdyn nodded and Kylah lifted a dainty shoulder. 

“We might not be able to kill them, but we
can
frighten years from their lives.”

Kylah’s gaze sharpened with interest. 

“I don’t know…”  Kamdyn’s reluctant voice irritated Katriona.  Normally, her sister’s sweet nature was endearing, but tonight she needed to be strong. 

“Do you want something to happen to Mother?” she snapped.

“Nay.”  Kamdyn’s eyes brightened with tears.  “I just… I don’t have any practice frightening others.  What if I bungle it?”

“Just don’t.”  Katriona drifted through the burnt-out window and let her Banshee rage brighten the blue aura around her.  As when they were alive, it fell to her to handle the situation.

Some things never changed.

Katriona opened her mouth to prepare for the loudest, most terrifying keen she could muster.  However, instead of the torch-carrying mob they’d feared, the mist-concealed road revealed one lone lantern now perched on the ground next to the hollowed-out alder.  Bending to stuff a familiar bundle inside was Bridget MacKay, lead housemaid for the Laird’s keep.

Her presence stunned each of the sisters into absolute silence. 

“If I didn’t need the extra wages, I’d set this bundle ablaze,” she murmured to herself in a grumpy brogue.  When she finished stowing the package, she straightened her cloak, held a hand to her lower back as though it ached, and turned.