“The goddesses forget that I know their weakness,” Emily said, tipping her chin higher to a proud angle. “They are just like Morrigan. They cannot exist if they are not remembered. Believed in. They feed on the thoughts, prayers, and offerings from their precious mortals that they treat like pets. But if those mortals cease to believe and turn them into nothing more than fairy tales…” She wrinkled her nose at Gryffe and offered an apologetic shrug. “Sorry—not fairy tales—but myths and legends. Powerless fantasies, then the goddesses will cease to exist. If they don’t leave me and mine alone, we will see to it that no one in this reality, and any other reality I can portal to, ever believes in them again. We will protect the Highland Veil because it protects us. But we will not acknowledge the goddesses’ existence if they insist on treating all of creation like their personal breeding ground for lab rats. The Unseelie have as much right to exist as any other race. From what I have seen of them, they are no worse than humans, and we all know what humans are capable of.”
Gryffe wasn’t certain what lab rats were, but caught the gist of his dear one’s speech. He thumped the hilt of his sword to his chest. “So let it be spoken. So let it be done. So mote it be.”
Nicnevin shimmered into being at his side in her silver and black battle regalia. Her armor devoured any light attempting to make it gleam. Just as suddenly, her personal guard, clad in their war armor, with their softly glowing swords and spears of ebony at the ready, stood at attention along the walls of the room.
“No one threatens my son,” Nicnevin said, her voice echoing with the ferocity of a mother’s love. “The goddesses might wish to take another count of the Unseelie forces. Our numbers may have dwindled from the elder age of long ago, but we are still many and strong—and we stand united.”
For the first time in his life, Gryffe appreciated having his mother at his side. “We will honor our oath to protect the Highland Veil, and I might also add that we wish the Weavers no harm.” He strode forward until he stood directly in front of Mairwen. “But I know yer bloodline, old one. I also know yer story and yer pain. Ye understand these things lessen my trusting of ye. Are ye willing to give me yer blood oath? Yer allegiance to me and mine? Or must we declare war against the goddesses here and now?”
As Mairwen rose from her seat, the years seemed to drop away from her, making her appear more vital, stronger, and filled with life. With her gaze locked in his, she held her hand to Ishbel. “The crystal athame, Ishbel.”
He sensed Emily at his side as Ishbel rose and produced the Weaver’s hallowed blade used in healing, binding, and for initiates seeking to become Defenders. The dagger suffered nothing but goodness and truth. It consumed those seeking to do evil or turn to darkness with lies.
With the blade pointed upward, Mairwen nodded first at Emily, then at Gryffe. “Give me yer hands.” Her eyes flared wide with surprise as Nicnevin stepped forward and held out her hand as well.
“I will not allow my grandchildren to believe I did not offer my blood for them,” she said, glaring at the Weavers, daring them to deny her this right.
The athame started glowing with a blue white light as though it knew what was about to happen. It hummed even louder and shone even brighter as Mairwen sliced her palm, then cut Nicnevin’s, Emily’s, and Gryffe’s. She held out her bleeding hand, opening it so the other three could hold their wounds over hers and add their blood to hers. Once their blood was mixed, she shared it with them, adding it to the cuts across their palms. Then they joined their hands in unity, pressing their palms together and allowing the blood to stain the floor.
“By our blood, we are bound through all eternity,” Mairwen said, “Unseelie, Weaver, and mortal.” She bent and touched the tip of the crystal knife to the dark crimson spot on the floor. “A blood oath, a hallowed vow to protect Clan MacStrath, the Unseelie race, the Weavers of Seven Cairns, and above all, the Highland Veil. So let it be spoken. So let it be done. So mote it be.”
“So mote it be,” Emily and Nicnevin echoed, but Gryffe remained silent.
The old one dared to meet his gaze as she squatted with the knife tip dipped in the blood of their vow. “Grand Chieftain?”
“I want my children and my children’s children included in this vow. I want it spoken—not merely implied by mentioning our clan, the Unseelies, or the mortals.” He would not bend on this. The wily goddesses were known to find every loophole when it came to breaking vows.
Mairwen nodded and tapped the knife against the floor three times. “This blood shall also protect any and all children of Grand Chieftain Gryffe and his beloved Lady Emily—and their children’s children down through eternity. So let it be spoken. So let it be done. So mote it be.” The bloodstain shimmered, seeming to grow and breathe with the addition to the original vow.
“So mote it be,” Gryffe said, then fisted his wounded hand tighter so more of his blood would fall and join that on the floor.
Emily did the same. “So mote it be.”
Chapter 15
Emily drew the heavy shawl closer around her while sitting on the ledge of the large bay window of her sittingroom—a room Gryffe had ordered tailored for her in an astonishingly short amount of time, for when her sanity needed to escape the United Kingdom of Scotland’s alternate eighteenth century.
Another winter storm howled across the land, bringing more snow, ice, and bitter cold. A heavy sigh filled with sadness escaped her. Even if Gryffe transported her to Seven Cairns, and she portaled through to the twenty-first century, it was doubtful she could book a flight home for the holidays since the weather was probably doing the same there. And it usually did. That was one thing she had noticed when first arriving here. The weather was the same across the realities. Perhaps nature didn’t have time to juggle things any more than it already did.
“I promised Mama and Papa I would be home for Christmas.” She scraped the shape of a heart in the thick layer of frost coating the glass, then drew a jagged line through it, breaking it down the middle. Even though a fire roared in the hearth, the room still possessed a noticeable chill. “They are going to be so upset with me. I’ve disappointed them again.”
“Lady Emily, come away from there. Sit here by the fire where it’s warm.” Tayda gently tugged on her, as if coaxing a toddler or an elderly patient away from the edge of an abyss. “Mairwen and Ishbel swore to have yer Jessa speak with yer parents, so they would not worry. From all ye have told me about Lady Jessa, I am sure everything will be fine. Come spring, ye can visit with all of them in Seven Cairns before the blessed wee one comes this summer. The prince said so, remember?”
Hearing Gryffe referred to as the prince still took some getting used to. Emily wondered if they’d made a new enemy in his step brother Roric since the truth of that ancestry had become known. Hopefully not. They didn’t need any more enemies than they already had. Besides, Roric still ruled the mortal kingdom of Britannia here on this plane. Hopefully, that would be enough for him.
“My lady—Please?”
To pacify Tayda, Emily rose and meandered closer to the hearth where Grimalkin was stretched her full length in front of the fire.
“Would ye like to paint, perhaps?” Tayda paused by the shelves filled with brushes, parchment, and palettes of dried pigments only needing water to come to life. “Or are ye of a mind to continue yer yarn work? Forgive me, but the word ye called it escapes me.”
“Crochet.” That activity had brought Emily some comfort, not only bringing back the many happy memories of learning the stitches with her grandmother but also by doing something useful. She had already made several pairs of baby booties in various neutral shades since she didn’t know how accurate Gryffe was about insisting she carried a son, and then Tayda smugly argued she carried a son and a daughter. With her abs as muscular and flat as always and only a few days past what should’ve been the onset of her menstrual cycle, she struggled with hoping against hope that she really was pregnant. Believing in the unbelievable was still a work in progress for her. But she’d get it. One way or another, she would get it.
She crouched down beside Grimalkin and scratched the great cat under her chin. “It’s a restless sort of day. I can’t explain it, but I feel like something is about to happen. It’s like the air is stretched too tight and about to snap.”
Grimalkin rolled to her back, exposing her belly for a good scratching.
“Yer fine cat there would sense if something was wrong, my lady.” Tayda fetched a basket from the table beside the door. She seated herself with it in her lap, pawing through the many different colors of yarn within it. “Come see these newest shades the dyers sent up for yer inspection. These threads are quite lovely—maybe ye could make blankets for the wee ones’ cradles?”
