The Eternal Highlander (10 page)

Cathal stared into the dying Edmee’s eyes and felt the exhilaration of victory rapidly fade. “This was unnecessary.”

“Mayhap,” agreed Edmee. “My temper, ye ken. I was always warned that it would be my doom. I wanted her dead. She stole ye from me.”

“Edmee, I was ne’er yours. And, ye didnae really want
me
, did ye. Ye wanted a laird. Bridget is my wife, my mate. I begin to think it was fated.”

“She isnae your mate yet, is she? Or dinnae ye feel that need, halfling?”

“I but wait until I am certain she will be willing. She is an Outsider.” He struggled against the weakness swamping his body and decided his loss of blood had been greater that he had realized. “I need to be sure she can understand, willnae be too shocked.” He frowned when a soft laugh escaped Edmee, but he was too dizzy to speak, to ask her what she could possibly find so amusing now.

“Oh, my braw, bonnie fool, I think ye are due for a few surprises. Tis a shame I willnae be here to see it all.” Edmee raised one badly shaking arm, clamped her hand at the back of his head, and pressed his face against her neck. “But, I do mean to be sure ye will live to suffer Scymynd’s revenge. Drink, my laird. I am dying. Ye kenned this would be a fatal blow when ye dealt it. Take what little I have left to offer. Just dinnae mistake this for a kindness.”

It was an offer Cathal did not have the will to resist. The way Edmee stroked his hair as he drank the last of her strength told him her harsh words were not true, not completely. He knew he would not mourn the woman’s death, but he would long regret his part in it.

Bridget watched Cathal and gasped when she realized what he was doing. “Oh! That had better nay be
the
bite.” Stunned by her own words, she put a hand to her throbbing head, “Oh, I should have guessed this would happen. Ye MacNachtons have finally driven me utterly mad,” she muttered and let the darkness take her. Jankyn and Raibeart’s startled laughter was the last sound she heard.

When Cathal closed Edmee’s eyes and stood up, he looked toward Jankyn and Raibeart. The sight of Jankyn holding a limp Bridget in his arms chilled him to the bone. “Bridget?”

“Has a lot of bruises and a lump on her head, but is alive,” replied Jankyn as he carried Bridget to the blankets and set her down.

“What brought ye two here?” Cathal quickly washed up in the pool then moved to help get Bridget into her gown.

“We have been watching Edmee,” replied Raibeart. “Followed her here.” He bent and picked something up from the ground. “What is this?”

Cathal took the golden, intricately carved medallion from Raibeart. “Bridget’s medallion. Her grandmother gave it to her. The chain must have been broken when she struggled with Edmee.” He noticed Jankyn staring at the medallion. “Tis but a pretty fancy. A cat with amber stones for the eyes. Bridget is most fond of it. Did she see me feed?” he abruptly asked the men.

“Twas the pain in her head that made her swoon, Cathal,” Jankyn replied. “Take her back to the keep. Raibeart and I will tend to Edmee. There will be trouble o’er this, I fear.”

“Aye,” agreed Cathal as he picked Bridget up in his arms. “Despite what she tried to do, Scymynd will think a reckoning is due and may convince others of it. I will be ready. Edmee kenned how it would be. Tis why she offered me the last of her strength. Of course, she denied that it was a kindness, or e’en for my sake.”

“Snarling until the end. Aye, that was our Edmee. Go on, Cathal, and dinnae chastise yourself o’er this. She gave ye no choice.”

Cathal was still trying to convince himself of that as, several hours later, he sat by his bed and watched Bridget begin to wake. He had killed one of his own and, no matter how that had come about, it was a loss it would take time to accept. When Bridget opened her eyes and looked around, he quickly grasped her hand to ease the fear he could see on her face.

“Oh, thank God,” she whispered, briefly clutching his hand more tightly in hers. “I feared ye had died. Why are ye sitting there?”

“I wished to be right here when ye awoke in case ye woke afraid.”

“And, I did.”

“Aye. I also wished to reassure ye that ye are safe.”

She smiled faintly. “Ye did. Of course, I would feel e’en safer if ye were a wee bit closer.”

Cathal laughed softly, shed his plaid, and got into bed. He pulled her into his arms and murmured his pleasure when she curled her body around his. He wondered if she found the same comfort in his arms that he found in hers. She was not really safe yet, however. Scymynd would strike out soon. Cathal had no doubt about that. As he stroked her back and felt her relax in sleep, he silently swore that he would keep her safe. He had no other choice. Duty demanded it. Honor demanded it. And most of all, he realized as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, love demanded it.

“Have ye made her your mate yet?”

Cathal looked up from his work to frown at Jankyn even as the man strode across the ledger room to stand before his worktable, his hands on his hips. “Why would ye ask me that?”

“I happened to get a good look at your bride’s wee, bonnie neck a week ago as ye fought with Edmee. No mark. We may heal from a bite without a scar, but an Outsider cannae. Your mother wore your father’s mark. Proudly. Do ye nay feel the need or are ye ashamed of it, try to deny it?”

“The need
is
there,” confessed Cathal, “although I had hoped it was one of the MacNachton traits I didnae inherit from my father. As ye ken weel, every halfling is different in what remains, what weakens, and what disappears. I am nay ashamed of it, however. I but worry about how Bridget will react to it. Cowardice has held my tongue, but I must gird my wee loins and tell her soon. The need grows too strong.”

Jankyn moved to where a jug of wine was set on a table along with several goblets. He poured out two drinks, served Cathal one, and sat on the edge of the worktable to sip his. Cathal took a drink as he eyed Jankyn warily. Something else was weighing on his cousin’s mind, something other than the fact that Bridget did not yet wear his mark.

“Mayhap that is a good thing,” Jankyn said. “Ye may e’en decide ye dinnae want to do it. I have finished searching out the truth about the Callan clan.”

The look Jankyn gave him made Cathal feel distinctly uneasy. “What did ye find out?”

“Weel, most of your brethren would still consider your bride an Outsider, but she isnae, nay completely.”

“Oh, nay, dinnae tell me she has MacNachton blood.”

“Nay, but it appears the Callans have a wee oddity of their own. I did wonder at times why Bridget was so quick to accept us. A Callan
would
be. In truth, I believe ye couldnae have found a more perfect match, but ye may feel differently.”

Cathal growled a curse. “Just tell me. What is odd about the Callans? Something that is carried in the blood?”

Jankyn nodded. “Cats. The original source of the, er, taint is a wee bit obscure. Twas either brought back by a Crusader or from some ancient Celtic bride, a priestess in the old religion, a shape-shifter.” He shrugged. “Despite what I am, I find that a wee bit difficult to imagine. But, there it is. The Callans appear to have done what ye plan to do—bred it out. There are tales from the old, misty past that hint at some difficulties because of this trait, but the Callans began to be verra particular in their mates. Their family lines are kept meticulously complete right to the most distant of cousins. Intermarriage, no matter how rich the prize, is strictly forbidden for fear that this trait will blossom in its full glory again and pull them all back into danger.”

“So, they have bred it out then?” Cathal could understand why Bridget might hide this fact about her clan, but still felt hurt and angry that she would hide it from him.

“Most of it. There lingers a hint, though. In the coloring, for example. Twas the medallion that set me on the right path. It reminded me of a tale I had once been told. I found that and soon tracked down the rest. It also explains a lot of things such as how your wife hisses and scratches, how she can run as she does.”

“How she purrs,” Cathal whispered.

“Does she? How intriguing.” Jankyn met Cathal’s scowl with a sweet smile. “The way she seems to sense danger, her keen eyesight, especially in the dark, and that certain grace she has. All Callan women are rumored to be small, lovely, graceful, passionate, and fertile. Verra, verra fertile. Your wee wife comes from a verra big family.”

“Do ye recall the first night she was here? The way she acted when she first awoke?”

Jankyn nodded. “Verra like a cat.”

“Aye, but for one fleeting moment there was something in her face, something verra catlike.”

“Why didnae ye say so?”

“I thought it a trick of the light. Now I think not. It also means it might be impossible to breed out all our MacNachton traits. The Callans havenae fully succeeded, have they?”

“Would that be such a bad thing? I can think of a few that would only serve us weel and would only raise envy, nay fear.”

“True. I suspicion some of the things in the Callan bloodline do the same. The more I think on it, the more I curse myself as a blind fool. Aye, some of what Bridget does could just be considered, weel, a female’s ways. But nay all of them. Certainly nay the way she fought Edmee. I was but stunned when Edmee tossed me aside. Couldnae move, but I could see how Bridget leapt at Edmee. She used those cursed long nails of hers on Edmee and it took Edmee a few moments to get a firm grasp on Bridget. I can now see that the way Bridget moved to try to stay out of Edmee’s grasp was verra like a cat. Then Edmee threw Bridget and, somehow, e’en as she was flying through the air, she curled that wee body of hers into a ball. That and the heather saved her.”

“Aye. Raibeart and I were close enough to see that. Raibeart still mutters about it. That and the fact that your wee wife made sure to take a few large hanks of Edmee’s hair with her when she was thrown. Of course, a cat is said to land on its feet. For one wee minute, I truly thought she was about to perform that wondrous feat, but then she curled up into the ball. I wonder why.”

“Mayhap when I have finished bellowing at her, I will ask her that question.” He smiled faintly when Jankyn laughed.

“So, ye will keep her?”

“Aye. E’en when I feared ye were about to tell me she had MacNachton blood, something that would near ruin all my grand plans, I meant to keep her.” He sighed, finished off his wine, then rose to refill his goblet. “I had best send for her, confront her with this, and hear what she has to say for herself.”

“No need. I believe I hear the patter of wee paws approaching.”

Cathal gave Jankyn a disgusted look as he retook his seat. “I would be wary of teasing her too much. Dinnae forget those nails.”

“Cathal?” Bridget called even as she entered the room. “Oh, greetings, Jankyn. Am I interrupting something?”

“Nay,” replied Cathal. “In truth, I was about to send for ye. Have a seat, please.” He waved her toward the chair facing him on the opposite side of his worktable. “There is something we need to discuss.”

The somewhat cold tone of Cathal’s voice made Bridget nervous. She found no comfort in the unusually serious look upon Jankyn’s face, either. Clutching tightly to the scraps of material she had brought to show Cathal, Bridget moved to sit in the chair.

“Has something gone wrong?” she asked.

“Nay. I wished to ask ye a few questions about your family, about your clan,” replied Cathal.

“Oh. Has Duncan written again?” Bridget began to get the sinking feeling that Cathal had discovered something about her clan before she had been able to tell him herself. “Has he refused to give o’er my dowry?”

“Nay. This has naught to do with that, or with Duncan. Nay, I am interested in your ancestors.” Cathal watched her pale slightly and felt both sympathy and anger. She should have realized she could trust him with this secret. “Let us say, the ones who went on the Crusade. Or, mayhap, an ancient Celtic priestess?”

“Ah, ye ken it all, dinnae ye.” Bridget was almost relieved that her secret was out, but the anger she sensed in Cathal made her uneasy, even a little afraid. “Did Duncan send another letter confessing all?”

“Nay, Jankyn discovered the truth. One of my ancestors was convinced there had to be others like us so he began to collect all manner of fact and rumor about every clan in Scotland. In the generations to follow there was always someone who held the same fascination. Jankyn does it now. He saw your medallion and that sent him down the right path to uncover all the Callans’s dark, wee secrets. Did ye nay think I ought to ken about this?”

“I didnae see how it would make any difference to your plans. Ye arenae one of my bloodline, either.” It was a weak defense for what had been pure cowardice on her part, but his anger was starting to stir up her own.

“Nay? Ye kenned what my plan was. Here I am trying to breed things out of my bloodline and ye neglect to tell me that, in marrying ye, I could be breeding other odd traits right back in? Did ye nay consider what sort of children two people such as we are might breed?”

“Nay, I didnae, but now that ye mention it, ’tis an intriguing thought. Mayhap a lad who can tear his enemy’s throat out then lick himself clean afterward.”

Bridget heard Jankyn’s laughter, but ignored it. She kept her gaze fixed upon Cathal who looked an even mix of outrage and shock. She knew she had been wrong in not telling him about the Callans, but if he thought he could now cast her aside because of her bloodline, he had better think again. It was not easy, but she pushed aside the pain and fear that possibility bred in her and faced him squarely. And, she mused, he had no right to chastise her for keeping secrets. That thought increased her anger and she welcomed the strength it gave her.

“That wasnae funny,” he snapped. “Now, tell me about your clan.”

“Aye, it seems that hundreds of years ago a Callan bred a child on a woman with a few unusual qualities. He wed her, brought her to Dunsmuir, and proceeded to breed a lot more bairns. I tend to think it was a Celtic woman. The women in the lands the Crusaders roamed were mostly dark, I believe, and Callans arenae dark. Ne’er have been as far as we can tell. Tis said she could change into a cat and I dinnae mean the kind ye have in the stables, either.”

“Do ye believe that?”

Bridget shrugged. “Tis difficult to imagine and, if she could, if any of her children could, that skill disappeared o’er the following years. There was something there which caused some trouble, however, so, about two hundred years ago or more, the laird at that time decided to breed it out. A few times cousins married, but ’twas quickly decided that wasnae a good idea. So, e’en more care was taken. When a Callan reaches an age to marry, he, or she, must memorize a list of the names of families we cannae marry into. Or, at the verra least, we will need to pause to be sure our choice isnae from the branch which might concern us. The name MacNachton wasnae on the list.”

Cathal ignored that. “But, whatever it was hasnae completely disappeared, has it?”

“Nay, but ye need nay worry that I will suddenly grow fur.” She sighed when he just glared at her. “We just have a few catlike qualities. Like strong, sharp fingernails, a lot of hair, keen eyesight, an ability to run fast, and the like. Some of us seem to have more such qualities than others, or stronger ones. It simply refuses to be completely bred out, which is why the strict rules on who we may marry continue to be applied. What of it? Do ye think to end this marriage because of it?”

“Of course not. Why would ye think that?”

“Oh, I dinnae ken. Mayhap because ye are acting as if I have grossly betrayed ye.”

“Ye should have told me the truth,” Cathal nearly yelled. “Ye have been keeping secrets from me, your husband.”

Bridget jumped to her feet, ignoring the cloth scraps that fell to the floor. She was furious that he had made her feel so afraid, so hurt, and that he would act so outraged when he still clung to a few secrets himself. “Ye, sir, have no right to be waving a scolding finger at me.” Not sure if she wanted to hit him or weep and feeling like doing both, Bridget started out of the room. “There are still a few secrets ye havenae told me, I vow.” She yanked open the door.

“Where are ye going?”

“To the stable, I think. I saw a rat there yesterday.” She slammed the door behind her.

“That went weel,” murmured Jankyn. “Why do I suspect that ye were in the stables yesterday?”

“Because I was,” grumbled Cathal, then he glared at Jankyn but it failed to dim his cousin’s grin. “I wonder why she thinks I am keeping secrets.”

“Because ye are. Ye havenae told her about the mating, have ye?”

“Weel, nay, but she doesnae ken that.”

“Ye would be surprised at how easily a woman can root out a mon’s secrets.”

“Aye, I suspicion I would be. Weel, there
is
one good thing about all this. Twill make the meeting with her brother easier.”

“How so?”

“His clan is in much the same position as ours. I was worried about how to let Bridget remain close to her family yet hold fast to our secrets. Now I may deal with the mon on more even ground. We both keep secrets to protect our people.”

“True. Of course, he may still feel inclined to object to one of his wee cats marrying a mon who is a wee bit like a wolf.”

“I dinnae think so. And, after all, I am nay on the list.” He exchanged a brief grin with Jankyn.

Jankyn picked up the scraps of cloth Bridget had dropped. “I wonder what she brought these here for?”

Cathal took the bits of cloth from Jankyn. “Ah, I suspicion she sought my approval. She wishes to change a few things. Just before Edmee attacked us Bridget talked about using some lighter colors around here to ease the darkness. She said she kenned we have to have the darkness so that
all
our clan can feel welcome, but that one doesnae have to bare all the windows to bring a sense of light into the place.”

“Ah, Cousin, such a sweet acceptance she reveals, e’en when so many of our brethren scorn and reject her. Tis uncomfortably moving.”