Page 120 of Luthias

“Get out,” Struan said, and the cripple and the other men left, leaving him alone in the great hall.

Struan unwrapped the tartan covering his dead brother, revealing his head and shoulders. Although all of his black hair and part of his face had been burned away, Callum’s mouth had somehow remained untouched, and now curved as he had never seen it. It looked to him like a smile of relief, not a grimace of pain.

“Did you relish the thought of me now, you stupit arse?” he murmured as he sat down on the dais beside his brother’s body. “’Twas my dearest wish that such a time never come, so I might torment you for all time with the fear I’d steal your place.”

A memory of them from nine centuries past came back to him. It had been just before their sire had ended himself, when the prince had locked himself in his chamber and refused to allow anyone inside.

If we dinnae break down the door, Callum had said, Father shall starve.

Struan dragged him back. He’s Fae, you eejit. He cannae die any more than we may.

Brother. Callum had taken hold of his hand, and his beautiful blue eyes had filled with tears. I dinnae wish to live forever. You’ve seen how Father endures. Every wife he takes grows old and dies when he cannae. ’Tis too lonely.

He would not grieve for Callum, whom his father had loved best. He had lived long and well, enjoying the wealth and power that came with being the Carack laird. He’d fought fiercely in hundreds of battles, and trained dozens of generations of men to do the same. At the end of his life he’d even found love, unworthy as Athdara Martin had been, and had followed that wretched woman into oblivion. Yet somehow while assuring himself over and again that he would not weep, Struan felt his face grow wet, and his throat become raw. The great hall echoed with howls that seemed to be coming from him.

When he could bring himself to do so, he covered Callum’s face and gently tucked the mourning tartan around him. “You’re right, Brother. ’Tis lonely.”

They sent Camdyn to fetch Emery from her chamber, and when she told him she wasn’t feeling well enough to go downstairs he came over and crouched down in front of her.

“’Twasnae your fault, wench,” he said, and took out a dirty rag, looked at it and then tucked it away. “Dinnae you keep a kerchief? What manner of female doesnae?”

“We use tissues in my time. They’re sanitary.” She knuckled away her tears and then winced as that made the bandages on her hands shift against her burns. “It’s only because I’m wounded, and it hurts. I’m not crying because Callum died saving our lives or anything.”

“The laird’s returned from Dun Deigh. You still love him, aye? And wish to see him and bat your pretty eyes at him?” He gave her a hopeful look. “Now come. ’Tis time for the sain to reward your courage with a wish.”

“I don’t want a wish. I don’t want anything. Don’t,” she said as he made as if to pick her up. “I’m not a toy, or a doll, or helpless. I’m fine. Just forget I’m here.”

Camdyn sighed. “Emery, I’ve listened to your blethering for weeks. I’ve answered your endless questions. I’ve even been burned trying to tear through the door of that barn to get you and my brother out.” He held up his bandaged hands. “Either come down now, like a good lass, or I toss you over my shoulder and carry you down.”

“Fine.” She sniffed and glared at him. “You can’t make me wish, you know.”

“I ken.” He offered her his arm, and walked with her into the hall, where every guard and vassal she knew––and some she didn’t––seemed to be lining the walls. They all appeared to be dressed in their nicest clothes, and the clansmen had their swords drawn and held high.

“Oh. Wow.” Momentarily distracted by all the gleaming steel, Emery stared. “This is for me?”

Camdyn chuckled. “’Tisnae for me.”

Emery walked what seemed like an endless gauntlet of smiling clansmen and vassals down to the great hall, where their laird stood in front of the dais. Luthias was holding the Fire Sword in his hands, and the firelight gleamed on the scrolled gold inlay and made the carved hilt shimmer like real flame. No, the hilt was doing that on its own; it was waiting for her to make her wish.

She hated the sight of it.

Emery wanted to run in the other direction and hide in the forge, or go into the kitchens and beg for another bread-baking lesson from Cook. Her knees started to shake. She couldn’t do this; she needed more time. Why wasn’t anyone giving her more time? Hadn’t she saved the clan?

As Camdyn reached the final row of men, Darach stepped out and offered her his arm. “Permit me a turn, my lady.”

Tucking her arm through his didn’t make Emery feel better, but he’d keep her on her feet. All she had to do was walk up and put her hand on the sword and wish herself back home. It would be over. The clan would be safe. Her life was waiting for her in the twenty-first century, where she belonged, but as she stopped in front of Luthias she didn’t collapse or sob or even make a sound.

“Here’s our lady, my lord,” Darach said.

Emery jerked her arm from the chieftain’s, turned and ran.

Taveon chuckled. “And there she goes.”

Vaguely she heard Luthias order the men to stay put, but as she raced up the stairs and through the passages she was more concerned with where she should hide. Dun Lasair was a big place with lots of rooms; it would take them forever to search each one. She could move around and steal food from the kitchens at night, or maybe go and live at the woodcutters’ camp once they left for the lowlands.

All of this made sense to Emery as she finally found the perfect hiding place and scooted into it, where she curled into a ball and covered her mouth so no one looking would hear her sobbing.

Two big boots appeared in front of her nose, and then Luthias’s face appeared as he bent down to look under his bed. “What do you now, my Mery?”