Caledonia Fae 03 - Enemy of the Fae Read online

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  Eilidh walked the private corridor to her rooms. She absent-mindedly acknowledged the Watchers, then stepped back after passing through the door. “My druid is bringing me a message in a few moments. Allow him and no other to pass. I need to rest.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” the Watcher replied, putting his fist to his chest and bowing.

  She grumbled when she went back into the rooms. Griogair helped her so much. He guided the servants into giving her more space, telling them not to hover, but to wait until summoned. She imagined they still hovered, but at least now they did so out of sight. At a normal dawn when Eilidh would prepare for rest, she would send a thought-message to the head steward, and he would direct her attendants to help her undress. At first they had been quiet and intimidated, but slowly the young faerie women relaxed and sometimes even made light conversation. Eilidh doubted they would have dared to do so with Queen Cadhla.

  Tonight, however, she wasn’t in the mood for their chatter. Instead Eilidh struggled with the fastenings on the back of her dress alone. She wished she still owned the jeans and hoodie she’d worn as an exile in the human world. In those days, she’d spent her time alone. For twenty-five years she’d hardly spoken to a soul. She had kept to the shadows, doing her best to stifle the abilities that back then meant a death sentence for any faerie. Griogair understood she couldn’t go from being an outcast to becoming the most important figure in the kingdom without time to adjust. He had been a gentle and patient mate.

  Munro had grown so deeply entrenched in her heart, she refused to contemplate life without him. So it surprised her how much affection she’d developed for Griogair. When the azuri conclave arranged their union, she refused at first, never imagining how close she and her mate would become. Munro loved her passionately, lived in her mind and heart every moment, but Griogair supported her in a different way.

  “You’re thinking about your husband,” Munro said from the doorway.

  Eilidh jumped. She’d been so lost in thought, she’d not noticed him approaching despite their bond.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  She exhaled loudly. “It’s shameful a human could sneak up on me. I’ve lost my instincts, living like this.” She gestured around at the chamber walls. Prior to her exile, she’d trained as a common Watcher.

  “Perhaps you’ve grown so accustomed to me, you don’t view me as a threat,” he countered, leaning against the heavy door frame. “What about Griogair had you so enraptured?”

  Eilidh sensed a quiet discomfort in Munro. “He’s been good to me these past moons,” she said.

  “He’s in love with you.” Munro looked away, his blue eyes turning pale as the sun’s rays began to stream through the window with the dawn.

  “I know,” Eilidh said, reaching out to Munro. “But this is the least of my worries.”

  Munro took her hands and drew them to his chest, then encircled her in an embrace. “It needn’t be a worry. You love him too. Isn’t that what you were thinking when I walked in? Did you believe I could be in your mind and not know how you felt?”

  She searched Munro’s eyes and saw no pain or jealousy, only a slight insecurity. Her druid had no status in the kingdom and was only tolerated because he had Eilidh’s favour. No one understood their deep connection, except perhaps Tràth and Douglas, because they experienced something similar with each other. Eilidh didn’t think Tràth and Douglas were lovers, although another pairing, Cridhe and Jonathan, had been before they died.

  Eilidh ran a hand along Munro’s face and understood his worries. “No one could take your place, Quinton.”

  “You’re not denying you love him,” Munro said.

  “How can I?” It was a strange conversation, Eilidh thought absently, and not one she’d anticipated. The kingdom had been cast into turmoil. Many had lost their lives simply to discredit her. Someone wanted to frame Munro for murder. Oron, the head of the azuri half of the joint conclave, was furious over what happened to his granddaughter. Yet here she stood, thinking about the men she loved. What kind of queen was she to be so selfish?

  “If ever…” Munro hesitated as though to bolster himself. “If ever you wanted him to stay the day with you while you rest, instead of me, I’d understand.” He kept talking, fumbling over his words. “I know you can do what you like. I mean, you’re the queen. You don’t need my permission. I’m just saying I get it.”

  She wanted to rescue him from his babble, but she stared at him, stunned at his offer. Faeries didn’t routinely practice monogamy. It wasn’t their way. The royals mated for life, so she would have Griogair by her side for centuries to come. No one expected them not to bed who they liked. His race was the only reason they kept her affair with Munro secret. No queen could take a human lover, especially not a human many already thought had too much influence in Caledonian affairs. Besides, she’d only been mated to Griogair six moons, and the stories of their passion for one another abounded. With so many other problems in the kingdom, the tales of the love the queen and her consort shared pleased many.

  “Eilidh?” he said tentatively. “Is that what you want?”

  “I love you more than life,” she said suddenly and kissed him with passion and fervour. “I need to be with you. Come to my bed.”

  Munro broke into a wide smile. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  She finished undressing and walked naked to the adjoining bed chamber. Her large swing-bed dominated the room, and she slid into it, motioning for Munro to follow.

  He removed his shirt, and Eilidh enjoyed the sight of him, as she so often did. The Otherworld had given his skin a lustrous sheen, making him appear healthier and more powerful. His form remained essentially human, and she marvelled at his musculature. More than anything, the depths of his love for her stunned and humbled her. How could she deserve these two men who gave her so much, who supported her and cared for her? She feared disappointing them more than failing the hopes and expectations of the hundreds of thousands whom she ruled.

  Her druid sat on the edge of the bed and kissed her softly. His caresses quickly fuelled his passions, and he became hungrier and more demanding. After a few glorious moments, he pulled away. “I have something for you.” He reached for a table beside the bed and retrieved a small, enveloped object. With patient care, he unwrapped a piece of black stone and handed it to her with reverence.

  Eilidh sat up. As soon as she saw the slate, she recognised the timbre of Munro’s magic. She accepted the stone and ran her hands along its cool surface. Although the rune was not part of her written vocabulary, the powerful intent inscribed within sang the word to her. The artefact was like nothing she’d touched before. It screamed with ripe power. “Draoidh,” she whispered.

  Munro grinned. “Pretty cool, huh?”

  She glanced at him, then the power of the stone drew her gaze back. “Cool,” she repeated. “Quinton, cool doesn’t even begin to express how remarkable this is. The power imbued within…I can feel your magic, but how did you accomplish it? Even I don’t have the ability to create a rune of such clarity, and Oron says my gift is strong.” She glanced up at him. “Our race is losing the talent for rune creation.” Her mind whirred. A human who creates runes? The keepers must be beside themselves, she thought.

  “I dunno.” He shrugged. “Things started to change after I read your signature. I recognised your intent, and I asked Ríona to show me the rune for passion. When we worked on it together, I realised I could read some. I guess that gave me the confidence to tell them they were connecting the wrong rune with the word druid. One of the keepers asked me to try to write the correct one. This is what I made.”

  “This is druid?” Eilidh held her breath as she contemplated. She breathed out. “The druids are draoidh. Of course.” She thought she might burst into tears, and the realisation brought her up short.

  “What’s the matter?” Munro said, touching her arm tenderly.

  She handed t
he rune stone back to him. “The power in the talisman is affecting me deeply,” she said. As soon as he took the shale from her, she felt more in control. “Quinton, I must apologise.”

  “For what?” he asked, looking and feeling genuinely confused. “Is something wrong?”

  “Our people have treated yours so badly, almost like vermin.”

  “Nah, most faeries are fine, once they get to know us,” Munro replied.

  She refused to argue, even though she knew he was holding back. Confessing the true beliefs most fae held about humans would shame her too much. She shook her head and repeated, “You are draoidh, sorcerers, in your language. Do you realise what this means?”

  “Not really. The keepers are freaked out though. They didn’t want me to tell anyone.”

  Eilidh didn’t understand what freaked out meant, despite her decades living in the human realm, but she could imagine the keepers’ reactions. “The draoidh were the most powerful among the fae in ancient times, almost legendary. They built the foundations of our most sacred traditions, created new magic. They were more powerful than any royal.” What Munro learned might change a significant understanding of fae history.

  He put down the talisman and removed the rest of his clothing as he talked. “We found an interesting story about an artefact some draoidh made together. I’d like to study it more, but I wanted to tell you what I’d learned first.”

  “I’m glad you did,” she said, and was instantly overcome with guilt that the first thing she thought was to discuss the discovery with Griogair. How would she balance these two powerful and important men? If what her druid believed about the draoidh was true, he might soon eclipse them with his power. The demands made of him by all the kingdoms, not just Caledonia, might become great.

  She needed the druids to remain under Caledonian rule. What might she offer them, beyond the guest-rights they now enjoyed? Would elevating them strengthen or destabilise her position? Perhaps she could cede them their own territory within her kingdom. She needed to speak to learned men, scholars, but none associated with the keepers. This information must not spread beyond Caledonia. She had to hope the keepers wouldn’t want this tale coming out yet either, but she had no influence or control over them.

  Her whirring thoughts stopped abruptly when she felt Munro’s lips press against hers. “There will be time for plans at nightfall,” he said. “You faeries are fond of saying the night is for work and study, but the days are for rest and play.”

  Eilidh smiled, trying to push aside the buzzing thoughts. “You’re right,” she said, returning his kisses. “We do say that.”

  “Let me worship you, my queen,” he whispered in her ear, taking her lobe into his mouth. A shiver went down her spine, and she melted into his embrace. Her troubles and worries wouldn’t go far, but she needed the respite. She made love to her druid, as she had many days before, but today a thrill rippled through her. He was draoidh. She didn’t know if something had unlocked within him, or if she only imagined the new powers surging in his blood as they joined.

  Chapter 13

  Rory sat at the bar and stared into his tall, thin glass of Coke, wishing his magic didn’t keep him from drinking beer. Flùranach insisted on going places with large crowds. During the day, that would mean the main shopping area with its tourist traffic, restaurants, and businesses. But this late at night, especially when the winds off the sea were bitterly cold, people flocked to pubs and nightclubs.

  The hour crept toward 1 AM, when the Aberdeen pub would close. Rory had no idea what night it was, except it must have been a weekend. Otherwise the place would have shut at midnight.

  When Rory and Flùranach left the Otherworld, they didn’t run into any resistance from Watchers. The human druids had permission to come and go, and Flúranach’s looking like an adult had some benefits. No one recognised her as the eight year-old granddaughter of a conclave leader. Once in the human realm, she used her astral talents to cast a light illusion over them both. Rory still looked human, but his flawless ivory skin, eyes that shone at night, and slightly pointed ears would stand out in a crowd.

  Rory thought Flùranach would cling to him, uncertain what to do. He planned to take her to a couple of pubs but keep her at arm’s length from the other patrons as best he could. She put a damper on his strategy right away. Gone was the sweet, shy little girl of a few weeks ago. Even though the illusion hid her spiralling ears, gave a more human colour to her eyes, and added flaws to her pale skin, she looked too bloody good to be real.

  Loud music thumped, drowning out conversation. One guy after another came up and asked her to dance, seeming not even to notice she was with someone. Rory couldn’t help but suspect she used astral magic to draw them in. Rory had encountered some cheeky blokes in his time, but he’d never seen them literally queuing up to talk to a woman, no matter how good looking.

  The Coke tasted bitter and artificial after months of little besides the freshest Otherworld honeyed froth, berry juices, and water sparkling from magic rather than carbon dioxide. Rory pushed his drink aside and watched Flùranach wriggling on the dance floor, having the time of her life. The whole scene made him sick. His gut reacted as though sleazy guys were hitting on his wee sister. Her rhythmic gyrations grabbed everyone’s attention.

  He wanted to drag her out by her ear. Confusion twisted him up inside. On one hand, he thought of her like family. On the other hand, seeing her as she was now, his mind teemed with images that shamed him to his core. It made him think he should go to confession, something he hadn’t done in a long time. He wondered if Father Ranison would have more problems with Rory being a druid or having carnal lust for a girl off-limits for so many reasons. First strike against him was her real age, not that he understood what to call real. What a fucking tangle, he thought.

  She danced with four of them at once, rubbing her hands down her body and twirling in slow, seductive circles. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. Enough was enough. He made his way toward her and took her by the arm. “We’re leaving,” he said.

  She turned and met his eyes. The light in her presence dimmed, and he realised she’d been muddling the minds around her. The men she’d danced with slowed down and avoided each other awkwardly, as though trying to remember why they’d been doing what they had.

  Flùranach yanked her arm away. “I don’t want to go,” she said. “I want to dance.”

  He took her hand roughly and pulled her from the dance floor and out to the street. Suddenly, nobody paid them any attention, and the crisp air cleared his head. “What the fuck were you doing in there?” Anger boiled in his chest. “I should take you over my knee and smack some sense into your backside.”

  “Dancing,” she said with a flutter of her eyelashes. She raised her arms and turned in a writhing circle. “I like the way humans dance. I’m tingly all over.”

  Rory blushed in the darkness. “Dammit, Flùr. You’re supposed to be looking for druids, not wiggling your arse about. You’re eight years old, for fuck’s sake.” He said the words aloud to remind himself as much as to scold her. Watching her was making it hard to supress those thoughts. She looked so adult.

  Her smile faded, and she stared at him hard. Suddenly she looked haunted and angry. “You have no idea what I am.” Her voice echoed in his head, and her eyes darkened into black pools. “I don’t remember what it feels like to be young.”

  Bloody hell. He needed to get her back to Caledonia now. “Come on, Flùr. You promised. We came and looked, but we should go home.”

  “Rory, please,” she said, sounding like herself again. “I can’t return empty-handed.”

  “We can go back now, and they won’t even realise we were gone. We’ll slip through the gates. Everything will be okay. If we stay much longer, it’ll be a much bigger deal.”

  “Let’s stay the night,” she said. Something in her tone tugged at Rory. Deep in his soul, he knew she was manipulating him, but he didn’t have any way to fight it, and he wasn’t ce
rtain he wanted to. “Don’t worry,” she said, stroking his arm and leaning in close. Her dark red lips looked delicious against her pale skin. The voices telling him it would be wrong to want her grew more distant with every passing moment.

  People started to filter out of the pub. Closing time had come, and the mostly male group laughed and joked with each other as they made their way into the street. They seemed none the worse for their contact with Flùranach. No one noticed her now, which appeased Rory’s temper for some reason.

  “Okay,” he said finally.

  Flùranach beamed and kissed Rory softly on the cheek, a sweet, shy kiss with a hint of come-hither, a reflection of the child she had been and the seductress she became. He wondered how many facets her evolving personality would reveal. “Where do we go next?” she asked.

  “Nothing will be open now,” he said. “Everyone is heading home.” He glanced up and down the street as things grew quiet. “We’ll have to get a room. Rest until morning. The humans will be more active after the sun rises. We might find better luck then, if you can stay awake during the day.”

  She smiled, and it made him feel ridiculously happy. “Thank you,” she said.

  None of the druids had human jobs anymore, so he had a limited supply of cash. At least he still had an active credit card. Munro told them all they should keep bank accounts, and they used the address of a faerie house on the Isle of Skye for their mail. Now Rory was grateful of Munro’s caution. Rory had been ready to cut himself off completely from the human world, but Munro said they never knew what they might need someday. He’d even started talking about alternate identities for the far future. If they bonded a faerie, they’d live hundreds of years, so somebody might notice if accounts stayed open so long.

  Rory and Flùranach walked to a chain hotel a short distance down to the centre of Aberdeen, an anonymous place accustomed to midnight check-ins. He didn’t like the look the reception clerk gave Flùranach but decided not to make an issue of it. He paid extra for a room with two beds, partly so she would realise he didn’t plan to take advantage, and partly so he might be less tempted to try.