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“All I know is that he was a druid … and that you seduced him before …” Ailsa broke off there, belly churning. She didn’t want to finish that sentence.
“His name was Gareth.” Isleen’s attention shifted back to the burn. “A sacrificer from Cannich. He’d been traveling the wilds on his own, communing with his Gods in seclusion, when I approached his fireside one eve.” An emotion Ailsa couldn’t quite place flickered over her face then. “I approached him with guile, but he knew from the first what I was … and he didn’t seem to fear me.”
Ailsa tried to imagine this foolhardy druid and failed. “What did he look like?”
“Tall … well over six feet with braided black hair and eyes the color of peat … the same hue as yours.”
So, she had her father’s eyes?
These small details mattered to Ailsa.
“He surprised me,” Isleen went on. “Instead of trying to ward me off with salt and iron, he invited me to drink with him by the fire.” She traced a long fingernail over a lichen-encrusted stone next to her as she continued, “And I did. We drank sloe wine and talked long into the night … and then we lay together.”
Ailsa studied her mother’s face, wishing she were easier to read. “Isn’t that … unusual … for a bavaan?”
Isleen sighed. “It is. We don’t usually couple with the men we hunt.”
“Why did you do it?”
Isleen’s fingernail continued to scrape across stone. “I don’t know really. I’d approached him intent on getting my intended victim to lower his guard so I could go for his throat, but I soon forgot all about that. In the end, it was he who seduced me.”
“And yet you killed him.”
“I couldn’t help myself.” Her fingernail halted then. “He didn’t fight me as I did it … he just stared up into my face, disappointment flaring in his eyes.”
Sickliness rolled over Ailsa at these words. She’d heard enough now. However, her mother wasn’t yet done.
“I didn’t think my womb was capable of quickening,” Isleen went on. “I was shocked when my belly began to swell. And after I gave birth, I carried you away from this hill and traveled the wilds until I found someone worthy of being your guardian.”
“Kayla.”
Isleen’s lips curved, her gaze swinging back to find hers once more. “A good choice.”
“She was,” Ailsa whispered, an ache rising under her breastbone.
“Where did Kayla bring you up?”
“Braewall … in the South.”
Her mother’s features tightened. “Tell me of your childhood, of your life there.”
And so, Ailsa did. The moon sailed high above, an owl hooting somewhere in the darkness, as she described the fort, their roundhouse, and Kayla’s workshop. She told Isleen of how she’d been an apprentice tattooist, and of the events that had brought Ailsa to these parts. All the while, Isleen listened, her expression rapt. It struck Ailsa then that she longed for news beyond the world she inhabited.
When Ailsa finished talking, her mother’s expression softened into something almost tender. “I thought that if you grew up amongst the Marav, you might never learn the truth of who you really are,” she murmured. “But you’ve returned to me. This is where you belong.”
Ailsa’s fingernails dug hard into the moss. “I can’t stay here … I couldn’t live like this.”
Her mother stiffened. “Don’t fight what you are, Ailsa … you came with me for a reason.”
“Aye, so you could answer my questions.” Ailsa’s belly was churning. She regretted her rash choice now. Nothing Isleen had told her had untangled her worries. If anything, she was more confused. And underneath it, panic began to swell.
She didn’t belong with the bavaan.
She hated the thought of dwelling in that damp, cold hill, venturing out only in darkness, and being driven by a thirst for blood that could never be slaked.
Her mother leaned in. “You’re here because deep down, you know exactly what you are.” Her icy breath feathered across Ailsa’s skin. “You just needed me to confirm it.”
“No.” The denial tore from her throat.
