Scent of a Witch (8 page)

Fionn took advantage of his immortal speed and made it up the stairs before his father. Neasa stood outside the door of what could only be Maeve’s room and frowned at her nephew.

“Where’s your father?”
s
he asked Fionn
, as she pushed a stray hair behind her ear
.

“Aye, I’m here. The lad took off before the lass had even finished speaking
,
”
Rordan said from behind Fionn.

“I must warn ye . . . she is well. Her body is repaired and will heal.” Neasa opened the door, but then stopped and touched Fionn’s shoulder as she had when she told him his mother had passed. For a moment he almost collapsed under the pressure of her dainty hand and all the painful memories it represented.
“The lass refuses to wake up.”

As the door opened wide, everything around Fionn seemed to vanish into a tunnel that led straight to Maeve. Red hair spilled around her head in waves and corkscrew curls, a stark contrast against the unhealthy pallor of her skin
.
As he approached, her complexion appeared to regain its usual luminosity. Lips pinked and formed a serene pout. Heat of the likes he had never expe
rienced before rushed over him.

“Just like her grandmother
,
” Rordan murmured. Fionn turned to look at his fathe
r out of the corner of his eye.

“I heal the body. But what ails this lass is something beyond that.” His aunt pulled the white blanket up an
d folded it under Maeve’s chin.

“Come lad. There is much you need to know.” Rordan laid a hand on his son’s shoulder and urged him to leave. Fionn knelt beside the bed, clasped Maeve’s hand in his, and brushed a kiss over her knuckles befo
re rising to follow his father.

Instead of going back to the great hall, Rordan led his son through the medieval keep’s halls and stairwell to the outer wall that once kept out primitive warriors, attacking clans, and the armies of enemy nations. Now, thanks to a powerful spell cast three generations before, the keep and its land was shrouded in a time cloak.
All members
of the clan had a special piece
representing
them, which always stayed in the castle as
an
anchor, allowing them to travel back.
The linking items were held
in a secret vault
,
hidden by not only magic but brick and mortar
,
and
only a few knew its location. Fionn had been surprised to learn his father kept his linked item. A dagger with the family crest in the handle was the last gift his mother had favored him with before her death. Because of the obvious emotional link and the added bonding spell spoken by the current laird
,
the dagger allowed Fionn
through the intricat
e spells that hid Hughes Place.

As the two men looked out at the green acreage and the numerous people that moved about, Fionn remembered his father taking him on his first time ride. It had been to 15th Century Scotland. Fionn and his father both considered The Scottish Highlands their favo
rite place, no matter the time.

Rordan began speaking in a low voice filled with emotion. “There are those who think that because I keep our clan shielded from the outside, I am a tyrant. That because I refuse to accept all the conveniences of modern times, I am a dictator. While I don’t feel the need to explain my choices to
them,
I will to my son, my heir.”

Fionn straight
en
ed his back and opened his mouth to contradict his father. At one time, he might have been heir but
,
after his banishment, then acceptance of immortality, and now judgment as a fugitive, he didn’t feel he deserved it. Rordan raised his hand and narrowed his eyes at his son, a wordless order to remain silent. Once again, a childhood’s worth of life lessons kicked in. Fionn
closed his mouth and listened.

Rordan looked out over the land as he spoke. “Good lad. Now pay attention. Everything I do, I do for the good of the clan. Anyone who wants to leave is free to go. By choosing not to use electricity or technology, it ensures the values of hard work and pride of labor are not lost. We depend on each other
,
creating a unity in the clan. But most of all, magic and sorcery should be what we t
hink of first, not technology.”

It was as if a
puzzle
piece
had fallen
into place with
in
Fionn’s brain. He finally understood what his father meant when he’d told him as a young boy
“Simplicity ensures the clan’s survival and the legacy of our magic.”

Turning to face his son, Rordan nodded and grunted
.
“Now, about Cordelia’s child.”

Fionn prepared to correct his father’s notion, but then decided against it, for Cordelia
had
b
een the woman who raised Maeve.

“Your mother was the woman chosen for me, and out of honor I did my duty to wed her.” Rordan withdrew the gold pocket watch he often spent hours looking into, yet never allowed anyone else near. He ran his thumb across the face, and then offered it to his son. “Unfortunately, my heart always belonged to another.”

Fionn pushed the button at the top of the sphere and the watch back sprang open. Inside was a picture of Maeve’s grandmother and a fiery auburn curl.

“Rick, Cordy and I were together from the breast. Cordy had a hard time keeping up with us physically
,
but the lass threw a knife better t
han any man I have ever known.”

Fionn chuc
kled. “Aye, so does Maeve.”

“Is that the lass’s name?” Rordan asked.

“Aye.”

“Always did like that name
,
” Rordan mumbled
,
looking out somewhere far away it seemed. “Cordy left to train in the art of healing for a couple seasons and came back Cordelia, a woman. The most beautiful woman Rick and I had ever seen.” A peculiar sadness seemed to emanate from Fionn’s father every time he mentioned Rick. “In the end she chose Rick, and because I was an arrogant fool, I lost them both. Now that they’re gone and I’m an old laird, I can see that everythi
ng was as it should have been.”

Fionn handed the watch back to his father, still open. Rordan caresse
d the picture with a fingertip.

“Long ago I cast an anchoring spell for Cordelia that would allow her to come to me with this watch and I vowed I would always keep it on me.” With his eyes still fixated on the pocket watch he paused and exhaled. “Six months ago, I was out riding down by the loch and she appeared like
some kind of bewitching nymph.”

Fionn smiled internally as his father paused yet again in thought. He knew exactly how Rordan felt. Looking up from his pondering, Fionn thought he detected a blush on his father’s cheeks
, b
ut then dismissed it.

“Cordy told me all about the lass.”

Fionn frowned, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Six months? It had been at least three months later before his father summoned him.

The laird continued to speak. “The Board of Witchery has always had its members who were no more than self-serving, pompous fools. Now it is different. People are disappearing, dying, old powerful people. Rick and Cordy withdrew from magical society under the masquerade that Maeve was normal, possessed no magic. It didn’t work, though. The Board wants her. The lass is strong and not only has the powers of the Sweeney’s and the da Paers but every drop of magical blood of every ancestor that has been in their line. Because she is the last, it’s as if the magic draws within her . . . comes together as a defense to ensure the clan lives on through her.”

“But she’s not the last
,
” Fionn stated
,
taking the time to remember her shooter. While he wasn’t in a Confederate uniform, the man was a dead match for the soldier in the painting he saw at the Sweeney house. “She has a brother…a twin brother.” Then he explained all the events around Maeve’s birth ending with the gunshot that had felled her.

Rordan grumbled a curse then ran his hands through his salt and pepper mane. Such hair Fionn would never know because of his immortality.

Rordan seemed to stand taller, as though he’d made a decision. “What’s important now is to help the lass wake up.”

“How do we do that?” he asked his father hoping he knew the answer.

“Sleep
,
”
h
e answered simply
,
then headed back inside.

Fionn stared after his sire
.
Had the older man lost his good
sense? Sleep in order to wake?

****

At the next evening meal, Fionn tried to put on a joyful face for his clan. He was the prodigal son returned home and accepted.
He was his father’s only living son.
. A sister had married out to another clan, only to return with a herd of children in tow. His younger brother had died along with his mother in childbirth. Rordan had heard the biggest outcry for not embracing modern heal
th care when that had happened.

Nevertheless, even over the loss of his son and wife, he still said magic—healing magic—was far more advanced than anything medical technology could have done. At the time, Fionn had disagreed. The broken heart of a little boy had outweighed logic or reason.
Now h
owever, as a man who’d traveled from the past to the present, he finally understood. He’d tried to manipulate destiny as a tracker but learned that
,
when fate deemed it so
,
fate
would always win. So had it been the fate of his mother and brother to go when they did, now he knew that.
But not all people understood.

“You sure know how to make an entrance, lad
,
” Fionn’s favorite uncle declared, slapping a rough hand on his back and then taking a
hearty slurp from his tankard.

Fionn picked up the scents of much stronger outside drink on his uncle’s breath and smiled into his own ale. Some things never changed. His uncle Cleavan was one of the reasons the clan was bursting at the seams with children.

After Rordan offered a ceremony of thanks and prayers of healing for Maeve, he called a meeting to order for a vote to be placed. Voting was a right every member of the clan had from age eight upward. Fionn remembered raising his hand the first time and shouting
Aye
. He couldn’t remember the topic or choices offered, only that his opini
on had been included.

Seated to his father’s right, Fionn watched the room and noted the laird looked
much older than he remembered.

“I, Sir Rordan Hughes, Laird
of Hughes
Place and
its
clan, knighted under his majesty King Argus Mcloud, hereby reinstate the knighthood of my son, Fionn Hughes, for fulfilling the quest of honor given, and I hereby name him my heir. All in favor say
aye
.”

Before Fionn could collect his thoughts, a loud unanimous “aye” resounded through the hall, echoing off the stone walls of the castle’s exterior. To his surprise a chorus of cheers sounded from outside, the response of the p
eople not included in the vote.

Rordan beat his empty tankard on the table indicating his desire for silence. While the hall quieted, Fionn’s father looked around the long table his expression becoming stern, a sure indication that while the option to say nay to his next proposal was there, he
would not be happy to hear it.

“I propose a three-day fast on behalf
of Lady Maeve Sweeney da Paer.”

No overwhelming
aye
rose. Instead
, deathly quiet ruled the hall.

Rordan continued to look displeased, took a deep breath, and then grunted as he released it. “The wee lass is all alone
, the last honor of two clans…”

Fionn noticed he got the point across without lying even as he omitted the existence of her brother. “And the Board hunts her.” A gasp rose among the family. “She has retreated into herself; her magic has reacted as a shield and now keeps her trapped in her own mind. If she is to return and face her destiny, she will need the support of a clan. This clan.
Her clan
. As pledged between the Sweeney
s
and
the
Hughes, I call upon the Celtic Knot that represents our bond to aide this child Maeve Sweeney da Paer to awaken strong and well.” A reverent but unani
mous “aye” was offered.