He would not show fear.Instinct told him the wicked one fed on the fears of mortals.“Have ye grown so lazy and vain as to think I would accept whatever ye said without question?”he asked, shouting the words up into the darkness.He snorted with forced laughter that he hoped would enrage the goddess even more than his words.“Ye are nothing to me.I know my loved one lives.”
The ground beneath his feet trembled.Deafening thunder made him squint against the harshness of the sound.“I am the Morrigan,” the thunder said, “the Phantom Queen.Goddess of War and Fate.”
“Aye, well, the only war I fight at the moment is keeping my clan fed with the spoils from my smuggling, and my fate is to see them thrive.Ye will have to pardon me for being less than impressed with yer title, Yer Majesty.As far as I am concerned, ye are an old myth, a legend better off forgotten.”As he talked, he slid the tip of his sword back and forth in front of him, carefully guiding his steps and ensuring he remained on solid ground.Jessa was near.And she lived.Hefelther.
“I could take yer soul to the other side at this verra moment, Defender, and there would be nothing ye could do about it.”
He laughed again.“Ye are slipping, old one.I am nay a Defender nor a warrior.I am a smuggler.A laird.A feckin’ earl.And a man blessed to be husband to the most precious woman who ever graced the face of this world or any other.”
Thunder crashed again, almost shaking his footing.“Ye are a Defender!Ye have helped them and aided the Weavers, as well.I have witnessed it myself.”
“Henry and Lachie are my kin.Members of my clan.Why would I not help them if they are in need?”He bared his forearms and extended them even though the inky blackness prevailed.He knew the Morrigan could see him as if the hell were lit as brightly as a sunny day.“I dinna bear the mark of a Defender not only because I have never taken the oath, but because I dinna plan to.”
“Ye lie.”
“When necessary, but not at the moment.”He resumed his slow, forward progress, then halted, and strained to locate the slightest sound the wind had carried to him—a soft, whispery moan, like the faint cooing of an injured dove.Call to me, my love, he silently pleaded.Reach out to me again.
“Do ye deny ye help those of Seven Cairns?”A hint of desperation, a tinge of frustration filled the darkness, somehow making the cloyingness of it ebb and flow like the tide.
Grant smiled.The Morrigan was questioning her actions, wondering if all this was worth the effort.From what he knew of the immortals and their ways, this slice of hell she had manifested had to require a great deal of energy for her to maintain on this particular side of the Veil.Perhaps she had finally realized this might not benefit her nearly as much as she had hoped.
“I dinna help them,” he told her.“I sell them goods, as any good smuggler would.”Now, that was somewhat of a lie.More often than not, he offered Mairwen tea, wine, and spices, so she and her Weavers would leave him the hell alone.But it was still a business arrangement.It wasn’t like he offered supplies and expected nothing in return.
The vile one didn’t respond, and neither did the darkness.The feel of it had reflected the Morrigan’s emotions up to this point, but now?Nothing.And that concerned him no small amount.Something was building.It was her turn in this horrible game, and he had no doubt she would take it.
Something shifted not too far in front of him.He resettled his grip on his sword, torn between sheathing it and falling to all fours to crawl faster and search for Jessa or maintain battle readiness.The raw urgency to save his lady love pounded through him ever harder.
A weak cough broke the silence.
That decided him.He sheathed his sword, dropped to his belly, and scrambled along the rocky ledge, feeling with his forearms.This was most definitely a ledge.If he veered too far to the left, he would help no one, and he doubted they would ever find his body in that abyss.To his right was another wall, but it was layers of stone, shale that flaked and crumbled at the merest touch, unlike the wall of polished marble beside the steps.“Jessa—find the strength to make another sound so I can find ye.Try, my love, I beg ye.”
No sound came.The silence knifed through him, twisting in his gut.He belly crawled faster, writhing through the darkness like a mighty snake.
“Jessa!”he called out.“I am coming, my love.Hold fast.”
“Please be real,” said the sweetest voice he had feared he would never hear again.“Please.”
He hit the metal bars and reached through them, patting around in the darkness.“Jessa!I am here.Where are ye in this damnable pen?”His fingertips brushed cloth, soaking wet and almost frozen stiff, but cloth just the same.He stretched as far as the bars allowed, jamming his arm between them up to his shoulder.“Jessa—lore a’mighty.Can ye move at all or are ye frozen to that spot?”
A featherlight touch ran across the back of his hand.“Grant?Is it really you, or is this just another cruel trick?”
He caught hold of her fingers and squeezed.“I am here, love.It is truly me.”The iciness of her flesh filled him with a fear the likes of which he had never known.He could not lose his Jessa.Never would he allow that.
An eerie glow, soft and golden, enveloped their hands, barely beating back the darkness.
“I knew you would come,” she whispered and gave his hand a weak squeeze.“I knew you wouldn’t let me die alone.”
Her words jarred him.“I will nay let ye die at all, wife.Daren’t ye speak of such again.”
“I am so glad you came,” she said so quietly that he strained to hear her.She sounded finished, resigned to her fate.
“Jessa!Move closer so I can lend ye some warmth.”When she didn’t answer, and the golden glow around their hands seemed to dim, he yanked on her, trying to shake her.“Jessa!Move this way.Now.”
“I am so tired.Can we not just rest for a minute?I know I’m safe now that you’re here, and I am so very tired.”
“No.Ye must stay awake.Swear ye will.”
“I will try.”
