Page 46 of Tair

She turned away. “Leave me and never return.”

Had she not presented her back to him Cath might not have seen the marks on the nape of her neck. He walked up to her and bent his head to sniff the injuries, which she had treated with a salve that smelled of honey and yarrow. The medicine had always been used to stop bleeding and prevent wounds of a particular kind from festering.

“I shall depart and leave you in peace,” Cath told her, “when you tell me what bastart flogged you.”

She turned around to face him. “The gossips told my swain that you and I had shared pleasures more than once. He demanded to ken if ’twas true. When I confessed, he punished me for my hoorish ways.”

Every word out of her lips was a lie, Cath thought, but who was she trying to protect? “Who did this to you, my lady? Did he force himself on you?”

“No’ yet.” Fear flickered over her face. “You can do naught to him, unless you wish me drowned for consorting with a monster like you.” With tears sparkling in her eyes she pointed at the back door of the cottage. “Now go, please.”

Cath left, taking care to keep to the shadows as he found a perch in a nearby ash tree while he waited to see who would come to Eilish’s cottage. She blew out the candles, which perplexed him until he saw a burly figure come staggering up to pound on the door. Cath dropped down, picked up a rock and shifted his position to watch the hulking man. He recognized him as Walter, one of the local brewsters who produced much of the ale for the village. He’d long had an unpleasant reputation for beating his own wife and children when drunk.

Why had Eilish claimed him to be her swain?

“I ken you’re in there, filthy hoor,” Walter called out, and then pressed his face against a crack in the door. “Let me in and mayhap I shall spare you all but a good plowing tonight.”

Cath strode up behind him, using the rock to clout him on the back of the head. The brewster fell forward into the door with a heavy thump and then slid down to crumple into a heap. He had just hoisted Walter on his back when the door opened and a horrified Eilish stared out at him.

“What have you done?” she whispered behind the hand over her mouth.

“Och, sweetheart. Didnae you ken? You cannae wed a married man.” He winked and carried Walter off.

Cath had time to think as he made his way into the forest. If he killed the brewster, which would not overly task him, he would have to confess the murder to the laird. Since they had sworn to protect mortals rather than end them it would doubtless cost him his position and indeed his place among the clan. He would return to aimlessly wandering the mortal realm until he met someone or something able to end him. It would likely take many centuries, unless he did the thing himself.

Deep in the forest Cath propped Walter against a tree, and used some thick vines to bind his body and limbs to the trunk. The man’s eyes blinked a few times as he roused, but by the time he regained his senses he could not move his arms or legs. As Cath released a light sphere, which hovered just above the brewster’s head, Walter sputtered a vile curse.

“Turn me loose, you back stabber, or I shall rip your head from your shoulders,” he demanded, straining at the vines.

Cath backed up and shed his cloak and weapons, bundling them and covering them with a mound of dead leaves before returning to stand before the bully.

“Do you reckon ’tis your right to whip a woman for refusing you?” he asked as he unlaced his tunic.

“I reckon you’re no’ the magistrate, you haughty sprag,” Walter said, spitting the words. He jerked again at the vines as Cath pulled off his tunic, and then went still. “What the fack did you ink on your hide, MacRune?”

Cath glanced down at the skinwork that covered him from collarbones to waist, which had taken on a copper-violet glow. “I didnae. A slayer of mortals did.” He stepped forward to tear off one of Walter’s sleeves, which he stuffed in his gaping mouth. “Come now and make acquaintance with his gift.”

For a time all the trees around them shook madly, raining leaves and twigs down on the two men. Walter’s eyes bulged wide in his dead-white face, and he screamed behind the rough fabric stuffed in his mouth for a long time. When Cath pulled his tunic back on, the brewster sagged so much only the vines held him upright.

“If you touch or speak to Eilish again, or harm her, your lady wife or any female ever again,” he told the silently weeping man as he cut him loose, “I shall come and let my pretties end you. None shall ken what happened to you. Do you understand why? Nod if you can.”

Walter nodded slowly, and then tensed as if he meant to run away. He froze when Cath touched his shoulder. “Please, my lord, I shallnae go near the lady, nor harm her or the others. Please, let me live.”

The fear in his voice made it sound as if he were about to scream, but the stink coming from his trews made it clear he meant every word.

Cat still leaned in. “I shall watch you from this night on. You may never ken when I’m near. Now, get out of my sight.”

Walter ran blindly down the trail toward the village, his speed remarkable for his size. By the time the brewster arrived home Cath imagined he would have to explain to his wife why he’d pissed and shat himself. He was tempted to go and watch that through a window, but he’d allowed the dark side of his nature too much freedom already. No, it seemed best to walk back to the loch and swim to Gealladh, where he belonged. That would cool down his temper and stop the needling sensations crawling over his skin.

At least, for now.

Chapter Twelve

After arriving back on the island, Lucy spent the rest of the day looking for the cluet with Garia while Tair attended to laird business. They finished searching the old outbuildings that were no longer in use, so the maid suggested they try looking through some old store rooms beneath the first level of the castle, which were connected by a series of odd stone tunnels.

“Do these go all the way under the lake?” Lucy asked as she noticed some small puddles of water on the floors.

“I cannae say, my lady,” Garia admitted as she used her keys to unlock yet another iron-hinged wooden door. “’Twas built long before my birth, and the clan, they never speak of such matters to us.”