White Fells Read online

  Darkness and rage engulfed him.

  “You were foolish to reject me,” the dark-haired woman said with quiet violence. She regarded. It was a brief connection, a seductive gaze meant to entice. It only made him hate her more. His brother’s whore.

  The tingling numbness in his right hand muted, and he tightened his fist. They stayed that way, gazes locked in a test of wills and awareness.

  Neither gave in.

  “Must we battle like this? Do you not understand that you belong to me?” she murmured, a faint curve to her pink lips. “All is not lost, tell me the wind vow.”

  Conall said nothing, and Boyden breathed the fury with him, nerves pulsing.

  The woman’s head tilted, and she lifted her short sword to him. The tip grazed his shoulder in a threatening and fleeting caress, making his blood boil.

  Within Boyden, Conall answered her with mutinous silence.

  Anger leaped into her eyes. “Give me the wind vow, Conall!”

  Rage rose in this throat. “You want the wind vow to secure the power to rule my realm. Nay, I willna give it,” the king growled in reply. “Only I control the lethal wind, a male blood vow of promise to the land you could never understand.”

  “I doona need to understand it. I only need to wield it. Besides, your brother’s blood be the same as yours.” She pointed behind her to a white-faced man astride a great, brown, horned bird, a creature of legend. “He be rígdamnai, of kingly material, the same as you.”

  From Conall’s blood memories, Boyden recognized the falsehood spilling out of the woman’s mouth. Her lust was centered on control, power, and greed.

  “The Elemental wishes freedom from your constant restraint. She came to us and pleaded our help.”

  “The wind never pleads,” the king snarled, his jaw clenching.

  “Give your brother the vow. He willna be so forceful as you in his rule.” She pointed her sword at the weeping child. “I promise to release you and your daughter. When I stand beside your brother, I will be Wind Queen and promise to offer you both pardons. You may live the remainder of your life far from here, but your line must end with her.”

  Conall laughed caustically. “Foolish female. You know little of what you speak. My brother and I have different mothers. Even if I lied about our mothers, the weakling standing behind you canna control the wind. He canna even control his lust for a scrapping whore.”

  “Wind bastard!” the woman screeched and lashed out ferociously in frustration.

  Her sword arm rose.

  Resolve settled deep in his chest, and Boyden felt Conall take his last breath of free air.

  Pain and fire sliced into his side.

  “His blood be the same as yours,” the woman snarled, jerking her blade out of kingly flesh.

  “Nay,” the younger brother protested, dismounting quickly. “Not this way. Hurt the daughter.”

  Conall roared in rage and pain, summoning the Gaoth Shee to do his bidding. A blast of glacial wind swept across the fire. The warriors surrounding them scattered like insects, running away in terror, deserting the rebellion to save their miserly lives.

  The woman screamed, falling to her knees.

  “Stop, Conall!” The brother’s command ended abruptly in paralysis, a strangled sound erupting out of his throat as he attempted to reach his bird mount. No longer able to pull breath into his lungs, he collapsed to the ground and turned to look at his wheezing lover. In the final moments of their ending, they glared hatred and blame, turning upon each other.

  The bird mount shifted uneasily, unharmed by the lethal wind.

  “Daughter,” the king called gently, his head falling low between his shoulders, a bowing in death’s coming.

  The child scrambled to her feet, hugging him close with skinny white arms full of desperate strength.

  “Listen to me, daughter. With my death, the lethal wind goes free and our realm enters into chaos. Doona ever think of her or summon her. You have not the strength to control her, and she kills all she touches if unchecked. Live your life away from here. When a male child returns to our line, the blood vow will stream in the reclaiming. Now go with my love and never look back …”

  Boyden stumbled, his back hitting a wall. The misty image of the sobbing daughter holding on to her dying father slowly faded into waves of grief and loathing.

  “Boyden?”

  He shook his head, trying to clear it. Scota’s voice sounded far away.

  The Gaoth Shee had wanted freedom in the long-ago times and had used others to kill her Servant King. The daughter escaped into a life of simpler days, raising a daughter of her own, and passing her father’s blood down the inherited line.

  In time, knowledge of the lethal wind faded in the daughters of the line. He was the first and only male ancestor of the Wind Servant King. The only one able to force his will upon the Elemental, a powerful and ancient being. None of the daughters of the line possessed the ability, only the sons.

  Only the males.

  Only him.

  Lifting his head slowly, he stared hard at the reflection.

  He alone had the ability to control her, to ask her to kill one, instead of many or all, and she knew it. Locked away in the inaccessible blood memories within him, he would relearn the wind vow.

  “Boyden, whatever you remember, I allowed her only once to share in you.”

  His gaze dropped to his mate. He did not understand. “Share?” he said dimly.

  She stared at him through a glistening of tears. “Yes. At the spring, when I was dying, she offered me a choice of life or death.”

  “Choice?” His voice sounded hoarse to his ears. “What did you forfeit, Scota?”

  “While you battled the captain and his warriors, I agreed to let her enter my body. She filled me with strength and saved my life,” she explained, sounding hopeful.

  “The fey doona save without reason,” he replied firmly, reclaiming his wits.

  “Boyden, the arrow lodged in me in a way none have ever survived. That wound meant certain death. You know this,” she argued.

  He knew it. “What did you give in return?” he asked cautiously. The magical always wanted.

  She hesitated and a warning chill slid down his spine.

  “When last we mated, she entered my body, and shared my senses. You made love to us both.”

  He made love to his … ancestor’s killer?

  “Boyden. Did you hear me?”

  “I heard you.”

  Scota felt him physically withdraw from her, felt the emptiness rising like a sea between them. Clenching her hands in her lap, she fought from flinging herself off the bed and going to him.

  He pushed away from the wall in lethal grace, a lover turned predator, eyes hard and cold.

  “Leave us,” he snarled, wild and tense, ready to destroy.

  Beside her, the reflection vanished.

  With an unsteady hand, Scota tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear. A sickly sensation settled in her stomach but she needed to know what her actions had wrought between them.

  “This fey creature is your enemy?” Scota asked slowly, watching his response.

  “Aye.”

  That one simple word told her all she needed to know.

  By sharing her senses with the Elemental, she had betrayed Boyden irrevocably.

  He walked to the doorway, not once looking back at her.

  “Nia says you are able to travel. Are you?” he asked, his tone distant.

  She climbed from the bed and went to him. “Yes,” she said, reaching for his arm.

  He avoided her touch, and Scota dropped her hand to her side in rejection.

  “Will you still help me end this invasion and speak to Amergin on behalf of my people?”

  She looked up at him with confusion. “Yes, Boyden. Why would I not?”

  “I will stay with you until the babe is born, Scota.”

  “Then after?” she asked.

  “There is no after. The c
hild goes with me.”

  “You would take my babe from me?”

  “Aye,” he answered and left her standing alone, ill in heart.

  Over the next few days, Scota felt hysterical sobs trying to well up and choke her. She battered the wayward emotions down, struggling for balance in an unfamiliar land of blue skies, rolling hills, swirling mists, and decadent enchantments. Her depression had not lasted long as she sought ways to solve her dilemma. Maybe it would be best if Boyden took the babe, she reasoned, trying to find a way out of the hurt. She knew little about the raising of children, and infants frightened her. She would not know what to do with a small and easily injured babe. Dread and anxiousness tightened within her chest when she thought of giving up her child. She tried to shake off the feelings but to no avail. The sad fact was, she wanted this babe.

  “Are you ill, Scota?”

  She glanced right. He had walked along in brooding silence since their journey and now he wanted to know if she were ill?

  “Scota?”

  “What?” She snapped a small branch off a green bush as she passed.

  “I asked if you were ill.”

  “I am with babe. I do not consider it an illness.”

  He nodded, turning away from her. “Do you wish to rest? Twilight comes.”

  In answer, she plopped down on a gray boulder and grimaced.

  “Are you in pain?” he inquired, his gaze watchful.

  She shook her head.

  “You frown.”

  “I sat on the edge of a rock. You would frown if it jammed you, too.” She tossed the twig away. “Are we near the river yet?”

  “Have you not heard the water?” he countered, pulling Nia’s food bag from his shoulder, and pointed toward the trees.

  She turned on her hip and listened. The sounds of a flowing river echoed in the darkening air.

  “We are close to the river,” he murmured and settled down a ways from her. He opened the bag, probably ready to offer her food again. Lately it seemed she ate more than him and was twice as tired.

  She scanned their surroundings. They sat among gaping ruins of fallen pillar stones and clumps of weeds and rocks. Bright splashes of yellow gorse dotted the countryside in a lovely display. In the distance, she saw an elongated ridge and a large passage tomb rising.

  “Is that the tomb?”

  “Aye, ‘tis the Grange,” he answered.

  “It appears we have come full circle.”

  “Aye.”

  She looked back at him. His rage was a living breath soiling the air around them. “I found you there, dying from the Darkshade enchantment, Boyden.”

  “Aye.”

  “I saved your life,” she said softly, adjusting the Darkshade dagger at her waist. “Aye.”

  She braced her hands on either side of her. “Can you not say something other than ‘aye’?”

  “Aye.”

  Scota’s eyes narrowed, and she blew air out of her mouth in irritation.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, his tone remaining aloof.

  “No, I am not.” She stood up and walked over to him. “Boyden, I will have this silence between us gone. Tell me what I have done so I can understand. I allowed the enchanted wind to share in you only once, a bargain made to save my life. You would have done the same. Is life so meaningless to you that you cannot consider my choice?”

  He stood so quickly she stumbled back. Power emanated out of him, and a gust of cold wind nearly took her feet out from under her.

  “Do you know what that wind creature is, my warrior? ‘Tis death. With one thought I could take your life, and the lives of all creatures, in payment for the betrayal.”

  “Is that what you wish, Boyden?” she asked. “To take my life and the life of your unborn babe?”

  He pulled back, a sudden inner horror crossing his features and turned away. “Nay, Scota,” his voice lowered, and he ran a hand down his face. “I wish no harm to come to you or the babe.”

  She grabbed his arm and faced him. “Yet, you hate me. How did I betray you, Boyden? By sharing my body with an ancient being in order to save my own life?”

  He looked away, and she grabbed a handful of yellow hair.

  In the next instant, she was on her back with a large and angry warrior propped above her.

  “Stop this, Scota. I canna control the rage filling me.”

  “Tell me what I did wrong,” she demanded, staring into dark amethyst eyes.

  “I doona want to hurt you.”

  “You brooding oaf, I will not stop until I have my answer. Who betrayed you?” She studied his face and formed her own conclusions. “The ancient wind is your betrayer.”

  He did not answer.

  “You think I would have willingly shared my body if I knew she betrayed you?”

  His gaze narrowed, and she took a deep breath. “Boyden, I would rather die than betray you. You must believe me.”

  He pulled back in rejection of her claim, and she managed to catch him off balance. Clipping his arm, she rolled him to his back and straddled him like a horse.

  “By the gods and goddesses, you are a thick-headed goat.” Grasping his wrists, she pinned his hands above his head.

  They stared at each other, heat and storm arcing between them like lightning.

  His hands clenched, a gathering of power.

  Hers tightened on thick wrists, a promise of strength.

  A demand for submission.

  A relinquishing of dominance.

  “Boyden …”

  “What did you feel when the lethal wind joined with you?” he interrupted.

  Scota knew her answer important to him. “I felt grief and desire … and a hurtful need to be close to you.”

  “Grief and need for what?”

  Scota eased her grip on his wrists. “She is lonely, Boyden.”

  “Her choice,” he growled, barely accepting her dominance. “The wind used others to kill and gain her freedom.”

  “As I would,” Scota offered in truth. “As you would, Boyden. Freedom means everything. It is a gift hard won and should never be taken lightly.”

  His eyes darkened.

  “Even now, you chafe under me, a minor restraint,” she said quietly.

  Scota felt the force of his anger return with his continued silence. He was one of those warriors who brewed inwardly before exploding. “These others the wind used to kill and gain her freedom, who were they?” she asked.

  “A king’s brother and lover,” he answered low.

  “You know them?”

  “The betrayed king is my ancestor. His blood memories fill me.”

  “His emotions fill you, too?”

  She saw a shifting within his gaze.

  “Aye,” he replied after a pause.

  “These emotions are of a magical blood linking between the two of you?” she inquired, barely above a whisper. She was feeling her way here, a treacherous and magical path of bloodline emotions.

  “Aye.”

  “These are feelings of his betrayal, Boyden, not yours.” Her mouth lowered to his, kissing the edge of his firm lips. “I did not betray you, Boyden. I would not betray you. If I knew how deeply you felt, never would I have agreed to share my body and senses when you touched me. Feel with your emotions, Boyden, not his, and tell me you hate me.”

  Deep inside, Boyden reached through the residual turbulence of a dead king. His feelings of betrayal came from her sharing of the mating. Yet, what choice did she have? She would have died.

  Her hips rocked against his manhood, halting his thoughts.

  He looked into her eyes and saw desire’s smoldering flame.

  “Tell me you hate me, Boyden.” Her hot, tight mouth fastened on his, asserting female dominance on an aggressive male. “Open for me,” she murmured with command.

  His lips parted, and she kissed him fiercely as if every breath in her body depended upon his. Her tongue darted in his mouth, and fury blurred into passion. He tilted his he
ad to give her better access and she took it.

  Need clawed into his lower belly.

  Drops of sweat beaded his brow.

  He flexed his hips, and she moaned in his mouth.

  “Tell me, Boyden.” Her decadent mouth moved to his jaw, leaving a trail of moisture. “Is it I you hate?”

  His body tightened still more, and he flipped her onto her back.

  “Nay, I doona hate you.” Drinking in her gasp, he reclaimed her mouth and feasted on what belonged to him with a primitive and possessive growl.

  In the next instant, a hand yanked his head back, a rope looped tight around his neck, and he was dragged off her.

  CHAPTER 19

  THEY WERE IN AMERGIN’S CAMP. Beneath the light of a full moon, night seeped across the land known as Tailtiu. The bloodbath of a wrongful invasion was nearly over.

  Scota walked in quiet contemplation between two Milesian guardsmen. She must be prepared to state her beliefs firmly and with rightly cause, she reasoned. Any attempts to sway the leader with hysterical emotions, exaggerations, or falsehoods would not work.

  With the strong northerly breeze whipping strands of hair across her nose, she accompanied the guardsmen through the fire-lit camp. The warriors they passed spoke in whispers among themselves. Some nodded to her, others remained silent in their judgments. Above the crackle of the fire circle’s flames, the chink of sword, armor, and spear could be heard in testings of balance or endless cleanings. A group of large warhorses roamed about the small meadow to the right, seeking rest from a hard day of battle. The air smelled of exhaustion, both from warrior and from beast.

  Scota pulled the stray strands of hair behind her ears. Near the end of the camp stood a solitary warrior. Hands were locked behind his back in quiet observation of the night. Shiny bronze beads decorated brown plaits hanging down his back. The brown warrior tunic and breeches of her tribesmen hugged his tall frame.

  The two guardsmen brought her near, stopped, then drifted back.

  She was alone with Amergin.

  “In the suspended time of this land, the winds blow in threatening possession,” the druidic bard said low.