Shadows of the Keeper (16 page)

“It’s almost comical.  A cat
defending a human.  Touching.”  Peter pivoted, motioning with his
weapon for Emily to turn around as well and get into the car.

“Seems your friends in the store
want to play the hero.  Get in the damn car, Emily, or I shoot them.”

She couldn’t move.  She stared
beyond Peter’s shoulder.

“Get.in.the.car, Emily, or I swear,
I’ll kill you right here.  Your stupid cat will be fine.  In fact,
why don’t I just end his miserable life?” Peter swung around, gun raised. 
“Jesus
Christ
!”

A naked man charged.

“Aedan?” Emily squeaked.

BOOM
! 

Emily screamed. 

Aedan slipped to his knees. 
His hand splayed his stomach, sieving blood.  Suddenly, black barrel of
death pressed against Emily’s brow, burning her skin.

“Get in the fucking car, Emily.”

She submitted.

Rear door slammed.  “Drive.
Now!”

“There are people coming out. 
They’ll be hit.” 
He’d shot Aedan.  O’Shay was Aedan.  Aedan
was bleeding.  O’Shay watched her bathe.  Aedan ran from the hall,
Broc’s men tearing after him.

“As usual, you’ve caused a
catastrophe.  I said DRIVE!”  The  gun pressed against the back
of her skull.  Emily’s bladder threatened to empty. 

He’d shot Aedan
.

“Plow through them.  I don’t
care. Get us out of here.”  His voice slithered six feet lower.  “Or
I roll down the window and shoot them.”

Emily laid on the horn. 
Bodies leapt out of her way.  BMW accelerated down narrow cobbled roads,
fishtailing on ice. 
Peter shot Aedan
, her mantra repeated. 
Aedan
was O’Shay—had been.  No doubt, he was now dead.

Innya made a face.  “Centuries
pass, and still you fight like a woman!”

“Aye, ‘tis a woman I fight, so I
give ye’ the highroad.  I canna raise arms against ye’ like I would a
mohn.”  Garreck offered a slight bow. 

Chivalry nearly decapitated him. 

Murmurs rippled through the bailey
as Innya fiercely battled, proving Garreck had erred in his assumptions. 
Broc chuckled.  These two had spent centuries exchanging barbs.  He
was reminded of how Urkani and Aurelia had used to quarrel in much the same
manner.  And now, how many times had he and his men stepped between Urkani
and Emily’s hair raising arguments?  S’blood, the lass was ruthless when
plotting devilry against Urkani.  Twice, the Elven commander had been
forced ta’ leap from his horse or be tossed.  Her inability to cease
laughing at him nearly resulted in her impalement from the furious Elf, had
Garreck not interceded. 

Garreck.

Humor vanquished.  Emily and
Garreck were quite chummy of late.  Broc did not like how it made him
feel.  As if sensing sudden ill thoughts, Garreck’s attention swung to his
laird.  Broc waved for them to continue. 

“Chances you offer are cause for
you to lose, Garreck.”  Innya said, not even winded from their mock
battle.  “In battle, you do not allow adversaries such opportunity, even
if they be female.”  Faking a spin, Innya lunged at Garreck’s chest.

“S’blood!  She nearly skewered
ye’!”  Kavan laughed, shouting down from his watchtower.  “Mi’lord,
Elves arrive.”  

A few minutes later, his face
appeared again.  Fear snatched his boyish grin.  “They be armed!”

Fey horns bellowed in the far distance. 
Motion ceased.  Attention swiveled towards the forest.  Those horns
were laden with magicks—only used from the modern side o’ the door. 
Something had happened!  Broc pushed away from the wall he’d lazed
against.  “Emily’s down there!” 

Aunsgar strode with determination
into Broc’s lists, an entourage of Elven warriors dressed in full battle
regalia following suit. 

“Evil surrounds Emily.”  He
and his retinue came to a halt.

“Allen nears,” Garreck warned.

Everyone looked to the ancient
Forest Lord who in turn stared somewhere behind Broc.  Broc spun just as
Allen shimmered into view.  The scholar lunged, grabbing at Broc’s sleeve.

“A man grabbed Emily.  A
gun.  Aedan’s been shot.  I think he’s dying.  His stomach
empties of blood.”

Broc grabbed Allen’s throat and
bared his teeth.  “Where’s Princess Emily?”

“Man . . . has her.”

“What
mohn
?”

“Short, dark hair.  Expensive
clothes. Black fancy car.  He forces her to drive.  She’s bringing
him . . . here.  Aedan—“

Broc shoved Allen from him. 
With two fingers, he sounded a shrill whistle.  The piercing stopped after
long sounding and was promptly followed by Garreck’s ox horn.  Deep blasts
constricted air.  Answering horns wailed from numerous turrets throughout
the miles of castle compound.

Air crackled.  Blood of enemy
would spill this eve. 
Short dark hair? Not Lumynari white?  Who
is this mysterious enemy?
  Broc held out his arm before any witnessed
the bird of prey.  As guardsmen and warriors battle-readied themselves,
the peregrine glided towards Broc, landed, her talons gripping his leather
bracer.  “Lady Falcon, your son is in the modern’s realm.  He’s been
shot.”

The bird riotously chirped. 
Broc held up his other hand.  Falcon settled.  “Can you tend
him?”  Sharp chirps answered.  “Urkani, she’ll need your herbs. 
And your magicks combined with her own.”

Without waste of motion, the Elf
approached Lady Falcon, stringing a tiny leather satchel to her leg. 
Muttering, he looked into the falcon’s black eyes, passing his knowledge to
combine with her ancient Fey abilities.  Peregrine bobbed her head several
times, then majestically spread her wings as Broc thrust his arm to accelerate
her liftoff.  Piercing chirps cascaded down to them, the falcon flapping
frantically towards her fallen son.

“Aunsgar, I would have you request
Sister Wind to surround the wings of Mae—“

“It has been done.”

Broc watched the falcon suddenly
caught up in a wind current, the bird soaring towards the forest.

“What do you see, Aunsgar?”

“Lady Emily drives quickly. 
Her fear chokes me.  I do not recognize this enemy.”

“Lumynari influence?  What
trickery do our ancient enemies devise?  She’s a modern, no knowledge ta’
battle—“

“Her captor is human, though
potentially just as deadly.”  Aunsgar tilted his head, staring at a distance
none could see.  “Lumynari do not surround her.  It is just she and
her . . . assailant.  She knows him.”

Broc’s teeth clenched. 
“Peter.  None other knew she was in Scotland.”

“The fiancé’?”

“I’ve only snippets of comments
she’s made, but a foul bastard ta’ be sure.”  He looked to his men. 
“We canna chase down a modern’s automobile, but we can be ready when this new
evil arrives.”  They spurred at his call to arms.  “Dressed and armed
of
our
world, no’ Emily’s.”  The laird glanced down at his wool trousers,
then back up at his clan.  “But, the kill is
mine
.”  His glare
dared their denial.

They were Forest Lords, once feared
by Celts, Saxons, and Romans—especially Romans, who could do naught else but
construct a seventy-three mile wall of false bravado.  And before that,
they guarded Brwenwind Forest from marauding Wild Men and Lumynari.

Today, they rescued a wee lass who
had captured their hearts with her temper, biting sarcasm, and hysterical
giggling—usually following an awful prank at the laird’s expense. 

Today
, they rescued their
queen.

*   *   *   *   *

“Keeping it stupid-simple, explain
why you failed to contact my father.”

“The castle lacks phones.”

“Well, you certainly excel at the
‘stupid’ part of my request.  Castle.  Really.  You, Emily Nobody
Garrison have been staying at the castle?  The castle you were
supposed
to take photos of so my father could sell it.  You remember my father,
don’t you?  The guy who paid your plane ticket to be here, employs you,
the guy who’s the very reason you’ve amounted to anything.  No one else
offered you a job.  Do you know how much money he’s spent on you already?”

“Yeah, guilt has a way of being
expensive.”

“Watch yourself, Emily.  I can
always start shooting parts of your pathetic body that will bleed slowly, but
cause much pain.”

“While I’m driving? Genius idea,
Peter.  We’ll crash and maybe you’ll go through the windshield.”  She
accelerated for emphases.  Screw it.  If she was about to die, she
was taking him with her!

Pain exploded on the side of her head. 
Emil screamed.  Car swerved.  Peter screamed.  Louder than her
own.  “Bitch!  Slow down, or I hit you again!”

Emily obeyed.

Pain hammered.  White spots
winked, blurred by the flood of tears.  She could barely see the road,
never mind trying to keep hold of the steering wheel with one hand, the other
pressed against where Peter had walloped her skull with his gun. 
Trembling.  Teeth chattered.  Blood flowed from between her fingers, down
her neck.  

“Don’t you ever talk down to me
again, Emily.  Understand?”

Vehemently, she nodded.  Cold. 
Ears rang.  Throbbing.  Clammy.  Shakily, she resumed the legal speed, making
sure to remain parallel with the center line in order to remain driving on the
correct side of the road.  She needed both hands.  Sight of her bloodied appendage
on the steering wheel brought on more trembling.

They rode in silence for a half
hour.  She choked the steering wheel, her lifeline to sanity.  Her
body remained tense.  Bleeding had slowed but still dribbled down both her
back and her chest.  Her blood-covered hand now stuck to the steering
wheel in a sickening way.  A superhighway of information whizzed by faster
than she could grasp.  Aedan.  Dead.  He’d given his life
defending her.  Aedan.  O’Shay.  Berserk reaction to the cat’s
exploits. 

Crying commenced.

“Stop sniveling.  It swells
your face and makes you look most unbecoming.  Roll up the window. 
Your ugly hair is blowing all over the car.  I thought my mother told you
to cut that mass?”

“As if it were ever her right to tell
me what to do with my hair; my body.   Let her boss around your new—“

Peter laughed.  “Yes, my new
wife.  Margot very much enjoyed your dress, though it was better off than
on.”

Emily concentrated on the road
versus his smarmy face in the review mirror.

Hair suddenly yanked, the car
swerved in the direction her head was being towed.  She slammed the
brakes.  Car squealed to a halt.  Peter lurched.  His fist-hold
on her hair tightened.  Gun pressed so deeply into her cheek, the barrel
threatened to dislodge her molars.

“No reaction?” Peter snarled. 
“No babbling the unfairness of it all?”

Emily’s stomach balled up like
paper in a giant’s fist. 
Feign car trouble and take off running?
 
He runs seventeen miles.  Daily.  He’d catch me.  He has a
gun.  Can’t outrun bullets
.

His mouth pressed against her
temple.  She recoiled both from his nearness and the stench of his
aftershave.  “That virginity of yours is a thing of the past.  It’s
mine.  Compensation for making my life hell.  I got you that job with
my father’s firm.  That alone makes you indebted to me.”  Peter
shoved her away and leaned back, leather interior creaking.  “Too bad I
can’t somehow keep you on the side. Tied up, of course.  Tape over your
mouth—right this car and get moving before someone comes up behind us and
wonders what’s going on.  You talk too much when nervous.  Mouth
taped.  Eyes taped—nah, just easier to kill you and be done with it.”  He
smiled, a demon about to feast.  “Enjoy this scenic drive.  It’s
going to be your last.  Wonder how many drivers will pass by, never
realizing your carcass lays out there, amongst all this land going to
waste?  They really need to build up.  All this potential and they
don’t bother with it.”  He tsk-tisked.  “I see your head is bleeding. 
Does it hurt?  Wait until you see what I’m going to do to your
face.”  His own face contorted.  Emily cringed, watching him in her
review mirror more than she watched the road.  Spittle ran down the corner
of his mouth.

“I suggest you get us to this
mysterious castle, posthaste.  My fingers itch to slap you again.”

Tears sogged her shirt as she
pushed down on the accelerator.  Black ice be damned.  With luck, the
car would spin out of control, killing them both.  Almost, hysterical
giggling bubbled up.  Her ears were ringing.  Heart pounded. 
Crazed fear provoked her to drive the car down an embankment, ending her agony
once and for all. 

She chickened out.

“We’re coming to a bumpy road,
Peter.  You might wanna take your gun off my head.  If we hit
something hard enough, and in this snow the rocks can’t be seen—“

“Then you lose your head.” His lips
stretched, his version of a grin.  “Better drive carefully, huh?”

*  
*   *   *   *

Headlights blazed against a wall of
reddish stone.  Each rock had been placed together with puzzle-like
precision, the great structure curtaining miles and miles of Castle MacLarrin’s
perimeter.  “Who the hell
built
this?  And
why
?” 
Peter gawked, his eyes crawling up, and up, and up the forty-foot high curtain
wall. 

Emily gave a quick silent prayer of
thanks.  Being one who could get lost walking from her house to the end of
the street, God only
knew
how she’d found her way back and through the
‘door’ Allen had shown her on their drive down to the village. 
Maybe
that’s what’s really going on, Allen’s here, invisible, guiding the steering
wheel.  Yeah, right.  If Allen were here, I’d like to think he’d have
shown himself, scaring Peter to death—literally
. Nope.  She was
alone.  Just like all the times she’d cowered during Millie’s various brutalities.

Peter gawked.  “Looks like no
gate—stupid to build a wall and not have a gate.  Drive through.”

“Can’t.  This particular
entrance is an illusion.  The tunnel narrows.  Designed to trick the
enemy into assuming their entire infantry could pass through.  At one
point, you’re forced to walk single file.  It enabled the inhabitants to
better pick off their foe, one at a time before they exited into the lower
bailey.”

“And now, you’re a fucking tour
guide?”

Emily muted.

“Why aren’t there floodlights?” 
He snorted, then waved his gun while opening his door.  “You first. 
Wouldn’t want you to throw the car into reverse, leaving me here.”

Eyes locked on Peter, Emily stepped
from the vehicle.  She weaved, white dots dancing again.  Nausea filled
her.  She felt lopsided.  Gingerly, she touched where he’d bashed her
head.  Caked blood.  Tears welled. 
I’m so screwed
. 
She knew her vertigo was a very bad sign of just how hard he’d whacked her
head.

“Quiet.  Too quiet,” Peter
mumbled, looking above them.  The crest of the wall was an imposing
darkness against a starry night.  “You lead, I’ll follow.”  He
lunged, grabbing Emily’s hair, yanking her against him.  “Make no mistake,
Emily, I’ll shoot you, but not to kill.  Not at first.  I want to
make sure you suffer for at least a while.  I don’t like you.”  He
laughed.  “Pretty obvious, eh?  I want to savor your pain.” 
Brutally, he shoved her, and again, smacked the gun across her head. 
Nonchalantly, he stared down at her where she writhed in the dirt. 
“Exactly where you belong.”  He kicked her.  “As much as I enjoy you
groveling,” he kicked her again, “get up!  A body can survive several
gunshot wounds.  Where would you like the first one?  I’ll let you
pick.  Hand?  Foot?  Hands.  Yes, I think I’ll shoot off
your hands.”  He swooped down and fisted her hair so fast, she didn’t even
have time to flinch, let alone, shrink away from him.  Yanking her up, he
slammed her against the hood.  “Not like you’ll need them again. 
Show me your hands, Emily.  I’ll give you break for a few minutes before I
blow off the other one.”