Page 5 of Darach

“Tavish Carack. After Callum’s funeral he heard Struan’s refusal as the clan gathered to make him their laird.” The sage dragged his fingers through his mussed hair. “He told me as much a week past, when I crossed paths with him in town.”

Now the sage’s renewed terror made sense to Darach.

“That poor lad Tavish, he’s never been right since the mine collapse that crushed him,” he told the sage. “We all well ken his penchant for spreading tales that rarely prove true. Someone should make him carry a truth charm.”

“Then why should he advise me take my brother sages and leave Dun Lasair before the new moon?” Duine countered.

Darach sighed. “No doubt to cause more trouble, Master.”

“I reckon ’twas more a true warning, else he wouldnae mention the time left to flee,” the sage said. “I repeated what he said to our lord, that he might prepare. Yet still he does naught.”

“’Twould seem Tavish wishes to make mischief by scaring away our enclave. He might then go to Struan and claim ’twas his doing so he might seem more important to the Carack, and improve his own position in the clan.” Darach put his hand on the sage’s shoulder. “You cannae put your trust in rumors and gossip. Rely on the clan to protect you and the other sages, Master.”

“I rely on you, Chieftain.” The sage rose to his feet. “I ken you may only speak truth, but ’tisnae an act of betrayal to ready the garrison for the battles that shall surely come. I’m a man of peace, no’ war, and yet even I ken if the MacRoss stand ever ready to defend the stronghold at a moment’s notice, then a Carack attack shallnae surprise you.” As Darach started to speak he held up a hand. “I ken you cannae go against our lord. Only think on what I’ve said. Imagine the lives you shall save. ’Tis all I ask.”

He bowed and hurried out of the chamber.

* * *

Once the sage departed Darach walked from the garrison hall to his favorite bathing spring, where he stripped off his tartan and boots before he dove into the still water. Like all the MacRoss his body stayed warmer than ordinary men, thanks to the blood he shared with Prince Ross. Even the coldest water could not entirely dispel his heat. Wearing the damp clothes after leaving the warm spring allowed him to cool himself as they dried.

He would soak for an hour and relish the quiet before he returned to the garrison, where no doubt two or three clansmen would converge on him to urge they take action against the Carack. The master sage’s warning had not been the first to be brought to him. Nor could he expect it to be the last.

Darach knew the discord between the two clans would never entirely end.

The conflict stretched back to ancient times, when the clans’ founders, Prince Ross and Prince Kaer, had dwelled in Elphyne. The magical Fae kingdom, inhabited by immortals possessing great powers, had been a paradise, but not a place of peace. According to the old legends, Ross, whose elemental power over fire had always put him at odds with Kaer’s power over ice, had fallen in love with the Fae king’s daughter––as had Kaer.

It should have ended with the princess’s choice of husband, only she had refused them both, and instead vowed never to wed.

The eternal stalemate and their elemental rivalry had swelled into hatred that led to a war. During their final battle Ross and Kaer had summoned their elemental powers to destroy each other, only to inadvertently kill the Fae princess when she tried to stop them. The grief-stricken king had stripped both princes of their powers, and exiled them to the mortal realm, where he commanded they spend eternity.

Being shunned by their own kind and cast out of Elphyne had not ended the feud between the exiled princes. They spent the next thousand years building their strongholds in the highlands, taking mortal females as wives, siring half-Fae sons and gathering loyal vassals who would serve them for generations. Their sons, who became the MacRoss and Carack clans, had carried on their fathers’ conflict by clashing again and again. Despite countless battles neither side could prevail over the other. After their last skirmish the clans had reluctantly struck a truce to end the killing, and permit the clans to continue on without the threat of death forever looming over their heads.

Only when fire and ice stayed apart could they thrive.

Those centuries of peace had allowed the MacRoss to become one of the most well-connected and prosperous clans in the highlands, thanks to the allies they had made of other neighboring clans, and the quality horses and livestock they bred on their lands. The Carack had also risen in importance and power, thanks to their rich mines, which allowed them to amass fabulous wealth as they crafted gold, silver and jewels into baubles for the nobles and royalty.

Darach would never trust the Carack, but he suspected the rival clan wished to avoid a war as much as the MacRoss did. Only someone had tried to start one by murdering the Carack laird’s lover on MacRoss land, and making it appear as if she had ended her life after being used and betrayed by Luthias. The killer had also tried to set fire to a barn to kill the lairds of both clans as well as Emery Parker, whom the Fire sword had brought back from the future to save the MacRoss.

In the end Laird Callum Carack had defied centuries of hatred between the clans and saved Luthias and Emery before dying in the fire.

As he floated on his back and watched the stars appear in the night sky, Darach wondered if for once Duine’s fears were justified, and he should begin preparing for a war. The centuries since the time of the two princes had weighed heavily on the two clans, and too many lives had been lost during the old skirmishes to ever allow any forgiveness between them. It seemed inevitable that something would march the MacRoss and Carack back to the battlefield.

When that day came, Darach would lead his men to war, and too many to their deaths. That he accepted as his duty to the clan, but he hated it.

Something dark appeared above him, blocking out the sky as it grew larger. He lunged out of the way a heartbeat before a body fell into the water right where he had been. A tremendous splash from the impact doused him.

As Darach touched bottom and wiped the water from his eyes, a pale-haired woman surfaced. She thrashed around, completely panicked. Though her back was to him, in her hand he saw that she held the Fire sword as if ready to skewer someone.

Take the blade from her before she hurts herself.

He swam back, reaching around her for the weapon, but she turned suddenly and held the tip under his chin.

“Get away from me,” she said, her strangely-accented voice ringing out with certainty. “Or I’ll kill you.”

Watery crimson streaks ran down from a gash along her hairline, and another, shallower cut sliced across her cheek. The moonlight silvered her wet fair hair, and made the blood that spattered it look almost black. She had huge eyes, so dark and wide she appeared on the verge of screaming. He could smell the Fae magic that had brought her with the sword, and saw tiny glimmers of red and gold enchantment still dancing on her pale, wet skin.

“I shallnae touch you.” Darach pulled back his hands slowly, aware that the slightest movement could provoke her to keep her threat.