Chapter Three
Seven years later
Scotland, Connor Castle, the Warrior Games
“If you’re not him, then where is he?” the boldest of the lasses asked after Tavis had assured them for the second time that he was not the Mighty Faelan.
“He had to go to battle.”
Her red-headed friend narrowed her eyes. “But you look just like him.”
“Aye, he does,” the bold one agreed, looking him up and down, starting from his boots and slowly moving over his kilt—at which point her cheeks grew pink—then up to his face. “Is he coming, then, the Mighty Faelan?”
Tavis rolled his eyes, regretting ever giving Faelan that name. It had been in jest but the name had stuck. “I’m sure the Mighty Faelan will be here as soon as he slays another legion of demons.”
The lasses’ smiles faltered at Tavis’ sarcasm. He was getting tired of their nonsense so he put a hand on either side of his sporran and gave them a leer. “He’s not the only mighty one in the family.”
They collapsed into giggles and ran away. He stared after them, shaking his head. If he lived three lifetimes, he’d never figure lasses out. These were two of the most annoying he’d seen, and he’d seen plenty. The world was full of bonny faces. They were the ones that got you in trouble. Human or not. A shiver ran down his spine thinking about that last demon he’d suspended. The female demons were extraordinarily beautiful. He had almost fallen for her charms, thinking she was a barmaid. It was only when he got close enough to kiss her that he caught her quick glance behind the door, and smelled the other demon waiting there. A male, and in his demon form. The very demon he’d been chasing. He’d had to destroy him, that or die himself. He’d managed to slap shackles on the female while she stared in shock at the empty air where her demon companion had been a moment before. She hadn’t been so beautiful after her skin started to stretch.
Beauty was nothing but trouble. Give him a plain woman or none at all. Why risk getting your heart trampled on or having her turn out to be the spawn of Satan? In fact, the more he knew about women, the more he hoped he didn’t find a mate. He wasn’t convinced there was anything to destined mates anyway. He figured it had more to do with lust than destiny.
“Stop woolgathering and come on,” Ian called.
Tavis turned and saw his brother waiting, his face scrunched up impatiently. Of all three brothers, Ian looked the least like a Connor. He was thinner and had lighter hair that fell in waves to his shoulders. When he was young and tormented Tavis and Faelan by following them around, they convinced him that he wasn’t their brother, but had been fostered out to them. Ian believed it for six months, until Ma found out. She told Da, and they’d paid dearly for the prank.
Ian might be the smallest of the three, but he was anything but frail. He was cunning and quick. He was tired now, which always put him in a foul temper. They were both sorely in need of rest. They’d only returned from battle the night before, Ian from France, Tavis from Ireland, just in time for the warrior games. The games were a welcome respite from hunting. Along with the competition, good-natured boasting, and flirtations, they offered an opportunity to share the latest news on demon activity and the status of other warrior clans.
Tavis saw his mother and his sister Alana near a table loaded with food. They had spent days helping Cook and the kitchen maids bake and prepare for the visiting clans. Every room in the castle, and every cottage, was filled with warriors and their families. Some had put up tents in the field, and a few stayed in the village. A family reunion was the excuse. There was always a plausible excuse to divert any unwanted attention from clan activities.
His mother kept glancing toward the woods. Warriors often traveled its hidden path to bypass the village. She turned and met Tavis’ gaze. Even from here, he could see the worry lining her face. He knew it would remain there until all her sons were home.
Faelan was late. He should have arrived yesterday. He’d taken a dozen warriors to Sweden where a family of demons had been on a killing rampage. Tavis wasn’t worried. Faelan was one of the strongest warriors the clan had ever seen. Some said he was the strongest. He’d started training two years early, and by Kieran, the most sought-after trainer. Faelan and Kieran had grown as close as brothers. Tavis liked Kieran, even considered him family, but sometimes he felt jealous. It used to be him and Faelan. Now, it felt as if Faelan hardly had time for him.
Rubbing the battle marks on his chest, which were beginning to itch, he joined Ian on the fringes of a group of dancers who were laughing and calling out challenges, some more than a little drunk.
“What were you doing with those two lasses?” Ian asked. “Figured after that last demon you suspended, you wouldn’t want anything to do with females for a while.”
Tavis scowled at his brother. “They wanted to know when the Mighty Faelan would be here.”
Ian chuckled. “He could have a harem.”
“He doesn’t want it or need it. He has his dream lass,” Tavis said wryly. It must be one hell of a dream to replace flesh and blood. Tavis and Ian had both woken many nights—both at home and on their journeys—to hear Faelan grunting and groaning as if he had a lass in bed. Neither bribery nor blackmail had convinced Faelan to part with the name of the lass. Ian had tried near everything, even perched near his bed listening for a name.
Tavis didn’t know who she was, but he wished his brother would stop rutting with her at night. It made it hard to keep his own head behind his sword and not under some lass’s skirt. Warriors were supposed to remain virgins until they married their mates. In part because female demons were always trying to lure warriors to their death. Usually the Council turned a blind eye to minor indiscretions, unless they wanted to make an example of someone. Tavis had sampled the charms of a few lasses, but fear that he’d stick his prick in a demon—as he’d nearly done—was a good deterrent for lust.
“Where do you suppose Faelan is?” Ian asked.
Tavis touched his sporran, where he’d carried the white stone for several fortnights now. Faelan hadn’t even tried to take it. All he cared about was hunting demons and saving the world. “Probably decided to destroy a few dozen more demons on his way home.”
“I reckon there are some who are glad he hasn’t returned. So they’ll have a chance to win at the games.”
“Like Wallace MacIntosh,” Tavis said. Not one of them could stand the sight of Wally MacIntosh. Pig-eyed bastard. He was a braggart and a coward. Tavis followed Ian past the bagpipers who were practicing along one edge of the gathering. There were several areas laid out for the different competitions. Knife-throwing, the caber toss, hammer throwing, wrestling, dancing, and even storytelling, at which their Uncle Seth was undefeated.
“Faelan’s missing the excitement,” Ian said. “Uncle Seth claims he saw a monster in Loch Ness.”
“Been drinking again, has he?”
“Aye, like a fish. Move your arse. The caber toss is about to start and I’m not about to let one of them MacBains win it this year.”
A commotion rumbled through the crowd. Tavis turned and saw riders coming out of the woods. He searched for Nandor, but he wasn’t there. Beside him, Ian also watched. Near the bagpipers, their father was trying to peer through the crowd. A black speck emerged from the trees on the flank of the group. Nandor. Tavis recognized Faelan’s horse, even from afar. His brother was just as recognizable. It wasn’t that he sat taller in the saddle than most men or that he seemed to be an extension of his horse, like a Centaur, Tavis had once jested. There was something about Faelan that was different. An aura that made him seem bigger than other warriors.
The crowd had recognized him as well, and a cry went up. In the next breath, wagers were being placed on how many demons Faelan had slain this time.
The feeling of anticipation was exhilarating as hooves thundered across the field. Even the Clydesdales in the back pasture had moved closer to the fence and were lifting their heads and pawing the ground. One of them snorted and the whole herd broke into a run. The crowd, now fixated on the returning warriors, moved closer. Some of the more daring youth continued out to meet the riders with shouts of bravado, ignoring cries from their mothers to stay clear of the horses.
The warriors were immediately besieged by the crowds, especially the lasses who fanned flushed faces while staring in awe. There was generally more than competition in the air at these warrior games. Mates had to come from a clan—a warrior’s own or another—and these festivities offered a prime opportunity for mate hunting.
Faelan was hanging back. Something was wrong. Tavis’ battle marks were tingling now. Each warrior was marked—usually on his chest—according to his weaknesses and strengths. No one knew what the ancient writing and symbols meant, but whenever someone Tavis loved was in danger, his marks tingled or itched.
Tavis and Ian pushed through the crowd who was waiting to greet their brother. Faelan looked up and caught Tavis’ eye. His gaze was troubled, but he quickly hid it.
“Welcome home, Mighty Faelan,” Tavis said in the deep, theatrical voice he often used to torment his brother. “Slayer of demons, lover of lasses, devourer of apple pies.” Tavis bowed low and then stumbled when Faelan shoved the handle of his sword at Tavis.
“Hold this, brother,” Faelan said rolling his eyes. He lowered his voice. “And if it wasn’t for you, there wouldn’t be any Mighty Faelan shite.”
“And do you know how many times I’ve regretted it?” Tavis asked, rising from his bow with a mocking grin.
“Not nearly as many as I,” Faelan said.
“I regret it more than the both of you. It’s the Mighty Faelan,” Ian said, doing his own imitation of a high-pitched feminine voice. “Look how handsome he is, and how large his sword is.” He pretended to fan himself. “I think I’ll swoon. Someone catch me.”
“Catch yourself, you bloody fool.” Faelan laughed, and Tavis heard at least a half dozen female sighs.
He held Faelan’s sword while his brother brushed dirt from his shirt. “Been rolling around on the ground with your dream lass, eh?”
Before Faelan could gather a scowl, Alana ran up and threw her arms around his waist. “Faelan. You’re home.” She leaned back, her face glowing. “How many demons did you kill this time? Elsa and I have a wager.”
“Didn’t ma say you’re not to be taking wagers?” Faelan gently scolded. Alana didn’t argue with him as much as she did with Tavis and Ian.
“But it’s boring waiting for the warriors to come back. There’s nothing to do but ride horses.”
“You love horses,” Ian said.
“But I want to hunt demons. Will you take me on one of your hunts?” she asked Faelan.
Tavis shook his head. “For heaven’s sake, Alana. How many times do we have to tell you lasses don’t fight demons?”
“Well it’s not fair. Lasses can do anything a lad can.”
Faelan ruffled her hair. “I reckon you’re right, but if we sent you out hunting demons, who would look after Ma and Da? You know we count on you.”
Alana seemed to consider this as she plucked at a stray curl. “Well, I suppose so, for now. But when I’m eighteen, I’m going to learn how to fight demons.”
All three brothers shared a mildly exasperated glance over Alana’s head. They had all spoiled her, probably because they felt guilt over Liam’s death. But she was a good lass in spite of it, with as much heart and spirit as any of them.
Alana grabbed Faelan’s arm. “Can we do the portrait now?”
All three brothers groaned.
“I just got back,” Faelan said.
Alana put her hands on her hips. “You promised I could paint the portrait the next time you were all together.”
“What about the games?” Tavis said, grabbing for an excuse. Alana was a good painter, but sitting for one of her portraits was torture. “We have to visit our guests who’ve traveled so far to see us.”
Ian, looking desperate, for he couldn’t sit still for more than ten minutes, said, “Aye and Wallace MacIntosh is over there right now bragging how he’s the best at throwing knives.”
Alana rolled her eyes. “Wallace is a horse’s arse.”
“Watch your tongue,” Tavis said, flicking her ear. “Ma will wash your mouth out with soap. And here she comes now...”
“Tell her I said it, and I’ll tell her that I saw you kissing Marna.”
“I was not kissing her,” Tavis said. Almost, but not quite. Marna came to the castle most days to give Alana her lessons. Marna’s father had taught the brothers, and when he retired, his daughter took over, but she had her sights set on more than tutoring. She wanted Tavis, and she was making it very difficult for him to resist her invitation.
“She’s a bit plain,” Ian said.
Plain was safer.
“Talk about lasses swooning,” Faelan said with a grin. “Marna does look a bit faint whenever Tavis walks by.”
“Her cheeks get pink,” Alana said.
“There’s nothing between me and Marna.” For the moment. But at twenty-two, an open offer from someone he knew wasn’t a demon was quite a temptation. Tavis swatted Alana lightly on the shoulder. “You wee devil.”
Their mother and father joined them. Ma threw her arms around Faelan then stepped back and kissed his cheeks. “All my lads home safe,” she said, beaming.
Da clapped Faelan on the back. “Welcome home, son.”
Alana looked at Da’s shirt and kilt, the latter which bore a suspicious brown spot, and she wrinkled her nose. “What’s that smell?”
“I’ve been showing the horses.”
“Well, do you think you might change into something nicer for the portrait?”
“Portrait?” His face fell. “Now? But the games...” He trailed off when he saw Alana’s pout.
“We’re never home at the same time,” she pleaded. “Last time you all promised next time.”
“Aye,” Da said, sighing. “Let’s wait a bit. Wallace MacIntosh is talking his nonsense again. Any one of you could beat that jackass at throwing a knife. Do you lads have your throwing knives?”
“Aye,” they all echoed. Da couldn’t stand Wallace MacIntosh any more than Tavis and his brothers could.
“He is an ill-mannered lout,” Ma said.
“Just like his mother and father,” Alana said.
“Alana,” Ma scolded.
Alana shrugged and tried to look innocent. “That’s what I heard you tell Da.”
“I swear your ears are the size of your head,” Ma muttered.
“Come on,” Ian said, taking Alana’s arm. “Let’s go put Wally boy in his place. I’ll wager you could out throw him.”
Faelan sent Nandor off with Kieran, and the family made their way slowly through the crowd, stopping often as people welcomed Faelan home. They approached the field where the knife throwing was about to begin. The horse’s arse was preening before a small group that had gathered. Wallace MacIntosh was fair-headed with muscle running toward fat and pig eyes that darted back and forth when he was nervous. He looked up and saw the Connor brothers coming and his gloating smile vanished.
After the Connor brothers beat Wallace, and Faelan had been welcomed by nearly every person visiting, the family grudgingly let Alana position them underneath a tree while she made the first rough sketch for a portrait. She was uncommonly talented for a child her age, but everyone was tired, and sitting was the last thing any of them wanted to do. Da fussed because he had spotted a man he thought was interested in one of the new horses, and Ian was withering at starvation’s door. Faelan stared off in the distance saying nothing, and Tavis rubbed his battle marks and pondered what his brother might be hiding. They all fidgeted until Ma and Alana were ready to kill them. Finally, Alana announced that she was finished, and there was a mad scramble to escape.
Faelan vanished like a ghost while Tavis tried to avoid Marna, who was making hand gestures to get his attention. He was so focused on this that he was waylaid by a group of lasses who were obviously hoping to find husbands.
The crowds were thinning when he finally made his way through the tents in search of Faelan. Some people were retiring to their rooms in the castle or the cottages, and others, who had pitched tents along the edge of the field, were laughing and jesting as they recounted and exaggerated the events of the day. Marna trapped him in the stables, her eyes bright with invitation. “I saw you throwing out there,” she said, stepping closer to Tavis. “You’re the best with a knife, you know.”
“Thank you,” Tavis said, wishing she would go away before he lost control and took what she was offering.
“I don’t know why everyone fusses over Faelan when you’re so...” Marna blushed, making her look quite fetching. The sight distracted him long enough for her to bump up against him. Thinking she must have stumbled, for it wasn’t like her to make so bold a move, he quickly jumped back to spare her embarrassment and forgot about the trough behind him. He fell over backwards into the hay, and his kilt flew up past his thighs. He wasn’t sure how much she saw, but whatever it was inspired her to leap on top of him and press her lips to his.
He tried to dodge her, but her hands were all over him. The experience might have been pleasurable if not for the fact that he needed to talk to Faelan, and there was hay poking his arse.
In the midst of this calamity, who should walk in but Faelan and Ian? They stared for a moment and then broke out in grins.
Marna jumped up, her face red as a strawberry, and rushed out like a scalded cat, leaving Tavis sprawled in the hay with his kilt nearly inside out, feeling like he’d gotten caught in a stampede.
“Bloody hell! Don’t just stand there, help me up,” Tavis said.
Still grinning, Faelan and Ian grabbed hold of Tavis’ hands and yanked him up.
“Is this the best place you could find for a tryst?” Ian asked.
“It wasn’t a tryst,” Tavis said, extracting hay from places it didn’t belong, which caused his brothers to laugh so hard they had to sit down. “It was more like an assault.”
“On her or you?” Faelan asked.
“I fell. She assaulted.”
“You fell?” Ian said, wiping his eyes. “And she fell on top of you?”
“Leaped is more like it. I think she crushed my bollocks. No fear that either of you will become uncles anytime soon.”
After he’d put himself—and the hay—back where it belonged, he and his brothers went inside for supper. Ma was elated to have them all at the table, and Alana talked until Tavis’ ears hurt.
After a long supper, Faelan disappeared again. He was probably seeing to Nandor. Tavis started for the stables when he spotted Faelan walking toward the graveyard. Tavis followed at a distance and watched as Faelan entered the final resting place for generations of Connors. Faelan sat down between two headstones. Tavis couldn’t remember whose they were, maybe the grandparents. Faelan rested his hands on his knees and stared at the sky where the moon was just peeking above the treetops.
Ian stepped out from behind a nearby tree. “What’s he doing?”
“Bollocks, you startled me. What are you doing here?”
“Same thing as you. Trying to figure out what he’s not telling us. What’s he doing? Measuring out his gravesite?”
“I don’t know, but something’s wrong.”
“Let’s get it out of him.” Ian started to go.
“Wait. I think he’s leaving.” Faelan had stood. He looked around the graveyard once more and then slowly left. Staying out of sight, Tavis and Ian followed him down the hillside and past the stables where a few stragglers—but no Marna...thankfully—lingered from the day’s events, looking over the horses. The Connors raised the fastest and strongest horses around, and several deals had been made during the games. They nodded greetings but kept moving. At the front door, Faelan hesitated, his hand on the knob.
“Spying on your brother, aye?” asked a voice behind Tavis.
He turned and saw Kieran. “Something’s troubling him,” Tavis said. “Don’t suppose you know what it might be.”
Kieran’s expression didn’t change. “I might. But best let him tell it.” Kieran moved on toward the cottage where he usually stayed.
Tavis and Ian went inside and found Faelan standing in the kitchen door, watching their father and mother and Alana who were laughing at something Da had said. Alana sat at the table running her finger over the letters Ian had carved in the wood years before, and looking suspiciously like she wanted to put hers there too. Faelan looked like he wanted to be someplace else.
Ma turned and saw him. She held out her hand. “Come and sit.” Her smile faded. “What’s wrong?”
“I have to leave,” Faelan said.
“Leave?” She frowned. “But you just got home.”
“I’ve been assigned another demon.”
“Another one,” Da said. “So soon?”
Tavis’ battle marks felt like fire under his skin. “What demon?”
Faelan took too long answering, and Tavis knew it wouldn’t be good. But he couldn’t have predicted how bad it would be.
“Onwar.”
Their father was the first to find his voice. “There must be some mistake.”
Faelan rubbed a hand over his face. “Michael came last night.”
“Onwar? Isn’t he one of the ancient demons?” Alana asked, her eyes round.
Everyone knew the names of the ancient demons, but warriors didn’t battle them. They were too powerful for mere humans. Michael handled them just as he did the first order of demons who only operated on a spiritual plane. The second order, the full demons, as well as halflings, were the ones assigned to warriors. Ancient demons were of the second order but they had grown so powerful they were approaching immortality. An ancient demon hadn’t been assigned to a warrior since the seventeenth century.
Ma’s face was pale, save for two bright spots that stood out on her cheeks. “You can’t fight an ancient demon. You can’t.” Her voice cracked. “I’ve already lost one son.”
Da touched her shoulders in a comforting gesture, but his hands were shaking. “Tell us what happened.”
Faelan had gotten the order from Michael on the journey home. Onwar was well known to warriors of all clans. Where most demons preferred subtlety, Onwar was unstable, wild. He’d killed three strong warriors in the past year.
After Faelan told them what he knew, Ma’s face went blank. She nodded and told him he would do fine, just fine, and then she left the room. Da sent Alana off to bed, much to her dismay, and after declaring that he would speak to the Council the next day, he followed her.
Not surprising, their father was granted an immediate audience with the Council. Many of the elders were in residence throughout the games, which coincided with their usual meeting. The Council was made up of thirteen elders, one of them chief, drawn from the various clans. They met occasionally at the castle, since it was the Connor clan seat. The elders lived in a secret location known only to them for both their protection and the clans’, in case, God forbid, a clan was discovered by demons and destroyed. The elders would then be able to gather reinforcements and do what was necessary to rebuild the clan.
The Council gathered in the library to hear Da’s request. Ian and Tavis were allowed to attend the meeting, though they would have attended whether they were granted an audience or not. It wouldn’t be the first Council meeting they had spied on.
“Can’t you do something?” their father implored of the elders.
The chief elder stood with his hands folded behind his gold ceremonial robes. “We share your concern,” he said, motioning to the other members of the Council seated behind him. “But if Michael has spoken, who are we to intervene?”
“But he’ll die. It’s been two centuries since a warrior was assigned an ancient demon. And there haven’t been but a few on record to ever battle a demon this powerful.”
The Council remained firm. They would not intervene. From the resolved look on his father’s face, Tavis knew he hadn’t expected them to. It wouldn’t have mattered. Faelan would take Michael’s orders over any Council command. The council did agree to send two dozen warriors to battle the other demons that Onwar would have with him, thereby freeing Faelan to concentrate on the ancient demon. While the games were still going on outside, inside the castle the mood was heavy.
That night, Faelan left. Tavis woke from a troubling dream and found his brother’s bed empty. He roused Ian and they dressed quietly, gathered some food and water for the trip, then left a note for their mother and father. Tavis crept into Alana’s room and dropped a kiss on her cheek before joining Ian back in their room. They slipped over the balcony and headed for the stables. He didn’t like leaving without saying goodbye. Ma would be worried, but a little worry now would be better than letting Faelan face Onwar alone.
After gathering their horses, they found Kieran at the cottage and told him Faelan had left. He too dressed quickly, armed himself, and they mounted their horses.
“Where do we start?” Ian asked. “He could be going anywhere.”
“He’s going to London,” Kieran said.
“London?” Ian asked.
Kieran nodded. “That’s the last place Onwar was seen.”
“He’s on Nandor,” Ian said. “We’ll never find him if he doesn’t want to be found.”
Faelan was a strong rider. He knew every hill, tree, and burn on both Connor land and the land surrounding it. Probably the whole of Scotland. “We’ll find him,” Tavis said. They had to. Without warriors to guard Faelan’s back, his fight against Onwar could only end in death.