Wild Highland Magic (The Celtic Legends Series Book 3)(56)

But once he made his presence known, his every move as the new chieftain would be watched and noted. He would be swiftly married to the willful girl who used to steal tarts from the kitchen and point a blaming finger at his half-brother Fingal. His visits to Cairenn would be curtailed, always slyly prearranged, like a man visiting a whore rather than the woman he preferred to marry.

His mind resisted that plan.

It was the only plan he had.

He hazarded yet another glance to where Cairenn walked beside him. No doubt it was the rain that made damp tendrils cling to her brow, but she looked pale and wan, as if beset by fever.

Hidden by the folds of his cloak, he covered her cold hand with his. “Any danger nearby?”

She shook her head with more violence than necessary. Then she yanked her hand from his and pressed the back of it against her lips, as if holding back bile.

“What’s wrong, lass?”

She splayed the fingers of her hand as if to ward off questions.

He said, “Is it the crowd that’s causing you pain?”

“No,” she said, her voice strained. “All I hear is a crackling noise, like a thousand bolts of lightning sizzling in the air.”

The hair on the back of his arms rose. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.”

His senses sharpened. He peered through the thick fog ahead. He listened to the suck of horses’ hooves in mud, the ringing of harness and shield. He listened harder and thought he heard, from a great distance, the sound of muffled voices.

By reflex he pulled his dagger from its sheath and eyed the woods around them. He said, “We’ll stop here.”

“No.”

“You’re in pain.” She stumbled on a raised stone. He seized her arm to keep her upright.

“I need to be near the dolmen stones.”

“If you can hear the crowd from here, then why—”

“I just need to get closer.” Her voice was reedy, terrified, and determined all at once. “I need to do what I came here to do.”

He cursed himself for not telling Angus that she required a mount. Callum would have accommodated the request with a wink and a smile, and then Lachlan could have brought Cairenn close to the heights and retreated just as quickly. The woman he loved was paying a high price for an end she didn’t want.

As they came out of the wooded path and into the open area that wound up to the council height, the fog began to dissipate in the rising lake breeze. He saw shadowy movement through breaks in its density. He passed vassals holding horses and guards standing over piles of weapons. Cairenn pressed into his side to cover her face. Then they rose above the mist and the crowd came into view.

Into his tunic, she whispered, “Is this the place?”

“Open your eyes and see.”

He walked her a few paces out of the line of Ewing horses and men so she could better see the summit, not more than two dozen yards away. There was a crowd, but in gaps he could see the three stone monoliths lying on the grassy height.

“The council height,” he said, mentally marking the tartans of the septs. “Where the clan officially decides who will hold the rod of kingship.”

“But…where are the stones?”

“Look,” he said. “There are three of them there, lying in a triangle on the ground.”

“But where are the standing stones,” she said, her voice tight. “The ones that belong inside that triangle?”

“When my father became king,” he said, “he had the upright stones moved to the MacEgan castle.”

Her breath hissed through her teeth. Her whole body tightened in his embrace, like she herself had turned to stone.

“Tell me it’s not true, Lachlan.”

He had no time to respond. Around them, the Ewing men were unstrapping their swords, pulled daggers out of sheathes, and tossed maces and shields upon the ground. Callum Ewing and Angus were already heading toward the height, Angus furtively glancing over his shoulder in search of Lachlan.

“We have to approach now,” Lachlan said. “Callum and Angus will make the announcement as soon as they step inside the dolmen stones—”

“I can’t.”

The force of her resistance was strong.

“Lachlan.” She looked as pale as death. “I can’t hear anything.”

***


She did not feel normal. She did not feel right.

Noise flooded through her mind, crackling and sizzling like pork fat overheating in an iron pot. No matter how hard she tried to build walls against it, the pressure made rubble of them. She pressed her fingers against her temples and squeezed her eyes shut, tried to breathe through the assault. With every step she’d taken closer to this hill, the cacophony had intensified.

She was certain now: All the mind-trouble that she’d experienced since landing on Scottish shores emanated from this sacred but mutilated place.

“Cairenn?”

His voice rang with wariness and disbelief and her heart squeezed.

“Maybe,” he said, “if we drew back from the crowd—”

“It’s not the crowd.” Every word was labor. “The height…it’s desecrated.”

He blinked in that way he did when she spoke of matters not of this world. She struggled to come up with a means to explain what no outsider was meant to know. Places like this one—dolmens, barrows, sacred heights ringed by oak trees—were hallowed links holding the worlds together. They were meant to be feared and loved and respected and holy. They were not meant to be disturbed by mortal men.