Nothing but silence filled the eerie void of foggy brightness.
“Something’s about to happen.” Emily wrapped both arms around him and hugged him tight. “I feel it. The air…stings.”
Sword at the ready in one hand and his other arm around her, Gryffe braced himself. It wasn’t the air that stung. ’Twas the goddesses building fury.
And then their howling wails shattered the mist, louder and more piercing than any banshee could ever hope to be. The place shook with their rage, making Gryffe wrap both arms around Emily and hold fast while trying not to drop his sword. She buried her face in his chest and held on to him just as tightly.
At least if they died now, they died together.
Chapter 16
The familiar softness of his bed cradled him, or at least it felt like his bed. But before Gryffe dared to open his eyes and reveal his consciousness, he breathed in the scents of the surroundings to make sure. The faint acrid hint of wood smoke came to him. The old leather upholstery of his chairs. Fresh linens. But best of all, the alluring sweetness of Emily’s perfume, his favorite scent of musk that he always asked her to wear. All this dared him to believe the goddesses had truly sent them home, and this wasn’t some sort of trap. He cracked one eye open, then opened them both to the cozy bedchamber, dimly lit by a few sputtering candles on the mantel and the tables beside the bed. Contentment washed over him as he gathered Emily closer, spooning his body with hers.
She sleepily hummed her approval and snuggled back against him, treating him to a contented sigh that reminded him of the cooing of a dove. “We’re home at last,” she said in a breathy whisper that thrilled him. She had finally claimed this place as home.
“Aye, my love. Home at last, indeed.” He kissed her shoulder, then raised up and frowned down at her when she flinched and drew away. “What is it, my own? Did I hurt ye, somehow?”
She twisted and tried to touch the back of her left shoulder. “It’s sore right there. Like a bad scrape. Can you see anything? I don’t remember falling, and they never made physical contact with me.”
“Let us see.” Mairwen and Grennove the healer spoke as one as they stepped out of the shadows.
“Holy cripes!” Emily squeaked so hard she choked and reeled into a coughing fit.
“What the devil is wrong with the two of ye?” Gryffe demanded of the women as he rubbed Emily’s back to soothe her. “Hiding in the shadows of our bedchamber?”
“Forgive us, grand chieftain,” Mairwen said, her sarcasm unmistakable. “But if ye recall, the last time we spoke, yer wife was as still and cold as the dead. Ye joined her, ye stubborn fool. We have watched over the two of ye, waiting for ye to either return to us or move on to the next life.” She motioned to Emily. “Turn this way, child, so Grennove and I can have a look at what’s paining ye.”
“Wait.” Gryffe took the candle off the bedside table and held it high. “I shall be having a look at my wife’s injury first.”
The candle’s glow revealed a mark similar to one that only a rare few had ever received from the mothers. The sign of the triple goddesses. A waxing moon, a full moon, and a waning moon. All three touching. The symbol of the triple goddesses: maiden, mother, and crone. But this tattoo was rarer still in that the full moon portrayed within its roundness, the tree of life, its many roots mirroring its spreading branches, symbolizing the interconnectedness and unity of all things and the cyclical way of life. He had only seen this particular version in ancient books, and he struggled to remember its significance.
“They marked ye, my love,” he said. The brand they had placed upon her, imprinting it in stark black, had been cut deep into the flesh of Emily’s shoulder. It was an open wound that would take a bit of time to heal.
“They placed their mark upon ye as well, my chieftain,” Grennove said. “I have a salve that will ease the pain and help the both of ye heal all the quicker.”
The old healer eyed him with a look he couldn’t read.
“Speak yer mind, Grennove. Ye’ve never been one to hold yer tongue before.”
“Mairwen?” Grennove turned to the Weaver. “Ye ken more about these things than I. Perhaps ye should explain the truth of that mark. I dinna wish to dishonor it with misunderstandings.”
Mairwen peered at him, her startling blue eyes narrowing. Then she turned and pulled at her tunic, baring her left shoulder. “I wear the same label,” she said. “The sign that proves I am a direct descendant of the mothers.”
“But I am not,” Gryffe argued, rolling his shoulder as if the thing could be shrugged off his flesh.
Emily pushed herself up to sit among the pillows and gingerly leaned back against the headboard. She hugged the bedclothes higher to hide her nakedness and raked a hand through her wild hair. “So it’s true, then? What you said when they held us captive? It wasn’t just a bluff about my great-great grandmother?”
“Ye told them ye knew of the secret? All of it? My ancestry included?” Mairwen stared at him in open-mouthed wonder.
“Aye, I also told them ye’d left sealed texts with every detail of the secret to be opened if ye ever disappeared from our presence.” He grinned. He couldn’t help it. “I told them ye had given a copy to every Weaver in creation. I also shared that if they didna leave me and mine alone, we would see them forgotten across the ages and every realm—and we would also wage war upon the Highland Veil itself.”
“And they believed that lie? Me safeguarding myself with sealed texts?”
“Of course they did. My dark side proves useful at such times.” He offered a nod. “But I would advise ye to make that lie a truth—for yer own safety. I dinna think that place where we were would be bearable for an eternity.”
“It most definitely wouldn’t be.” Emily rolled her shoulders and flinched again. “So, is this mark proof that they accepted our demands to leave us alone, or does it mean war?”
“That mark is their vow to protect ye as one of their own,” Mairwen said, but her scowl hardened with a fiercer glower. “Even yerself, my grand chieftain, because ye fought so valiantly for yer mate. But dinna trust them. They are as fickle as any human. More often than not, their only concerns are for themselves rather than the goodness of others.”
