The Renegade's Heart (36 page)

Ravensmuir seemed ghostly to her, but a
vestige of what it once had been. She felt new grief at the loss of
Tynan, and regretted again that Malcolm had chosen to leave. When
she had been a child, Ravensmuir had been so wondrous and now it
was abandoned. Even so, the old keep had a strange sense about it,
as if unseen persons held their breath and watched what she and
Murdoch would do.

Perhaps it was Tynan’s ghost.

The spriggans’ path led directly into the
largest opening in the earth. It looked as if it might have been a
portal in the hall, one that had sunk several feet into the ground.
Isabella peered into the darkness and discerned a passage. When she
straightened, she saw her concerns echoed in Murdoch’s eyes.

“How stable is the ground?” he asked,
glancing over the ruin.

“It has not moved, by all accounts, since
that day. And truly, before that, Ravensmuir stood for several
hundred years.” Isabella bit her lip, knowing she had to give voice
to her fears. “Are we wise to descend into this cavern to challenge
spriggans over relics? Others have fared badly in this.”

Their gazes met for a long moment and
Isabella saw that Murdoch shared her trepidation. “I understand the
risk, but have little choice,” he said finally, just as Isabella
had feared he would. “But I must try to leave some good reminder of
my reprieve in this mortal world. I must try to regain the
relic.”

“You could die, as Tynan did.”

“I will die in less than a fortnight, my
Isabella, unless we break the curse. I cannot believe that shirking
this task will do it.” His lips thinned. “I have less to lose than
you, and I sense that I have everything to gain.”

Isabella nodded agreement. “I wish I knew
exactly what had happened. The spriggans seem so small.
Mischievous, to be sure, but not dangerous.”

Murdoch kissed her knuckles. “No doubt, like
all the Fae, they do not care to be vexed or challenged.” Isabella
nodded, recalling the storm of the previous night well enough.
Murdoch winked at her. “I shall be polite beyond belief.”

It was clear he meant to go alone. Isabella
knew this choice was sensible, but she rebelled against it all the
same.

Of what merit would her life be without
Murdoch? Though Rosamunde had survived and loved again, Isabella
could not believe the same would happen to her.

She knew that Rosamunde would not have
stepped away from Tynan on that day, even if she had known the
outcome of her venture into the caverns.

And with that realization, Isabella’s
decision was made.

Meanwhile, Murdoch left the reins cast over
Zephyr’s saddle and rubbed the steed’s ears. “Ensure your own
welfare, my old friend,” he said to the horse and Isabella saw
again his protectiveness toward those beneath his hand. “I would
not tether you, lest the earth shift again.”

Murdoch drew his sword then and strode toward
the dark opening. Isabella was fast behind him. He bounced slightly
on his feet, testing the soil. “It seems to be strong enough, for
the moment. Perhaps it has settled to a new balance.” He glanced
her way and his eyes began to twinkle before she could even argue
her case. “I had thought to bid you farewell, my Isabella, but I
see I would only waste my breath in insisting that you remain
behind.”

“You would,” she said with resolve and he
laughed.

Murdoch offered his hand to her. Isabella
slipped her hand into his grip and they stepped forward together
into the darkness.

Surely it was her imagination that she heard
a man whisper softly behind her. She could make no sense of his
single word, even though she glanced back at the sound.

“
Three
,” was all he said.

Murdoch apparently did not hear the
utterance, for he continued onward, showing a confidence Isabella
wanted to echo. “We should have brought a candle,” he murmured as
the shadows closed around them.

“It would have blown out,” Isabella replied.
“Either immediately, or as soon as we relied upon it. It is better
thus.” She ran her hands over the walls, letting her eyes adjust to
the shadows. She had not been within Ravensmuir’s caverns enough to
recognize this passageway, especially as it was ruined. For a
moment, her confidence faltered, then she heard the spriggans.

She looked up at Murdoch. “They have gone
down, toward the sea.”

“Of course,” he muttered, then winked as if
to reassure her. They stepped forward as one, feeling their way
step by step into the cold embrace of Ravensmuir’s shattered
caverns. The darkness closed around them and Isabella shivered. She
felt her way along the wall, waiting for her eyes to adjust.
Murdoch was just ahead of her.

“There was a grand staircase,” she whispered,
then Murdoch pulled her to a halt.

“First step,” he said. She moved beside him,
testing the path ahead with her foot. He was right.

“The steps were broad and even, carved from
the rock.”

“They might not be so any longer.” With that
warning, Murdoch began to descend the stairs, his other hand
trailing along the wall. Just as Isabella recalled, the air became
steadily cooler and more damp, and she caught her breath when she
smelled the sea. She could hear the waves, too, and was relieved
that the passageway might be clear the entire way.

She would have told Murdoch as much, but he
froze suddenly and his grip tightened on her hand.

Isabella halted, then she heard the song of
the spriggans.

“
Kings and villains, rogues and thanes;
all have come to thieve again. They take the spoils not theirs to
claim, they steal and snatch, then leave again. Gold and silver,
gems and jewels, do these intruders think us fools?”

Who were they worried about?

“There!” Murdoch whispered, pointing to a
glimmer of gold just ahead. Isabella could see the silhouettes of
the spriggans as they hauled their prizes through a crack in the
rubble. By the time they reached the place, the spriggans had
disappeared but a glow came through the crack. Murdoch pulled away
some loose stones, they exchanged a glance, and Isabella slipped
through the gap. When Murdoch had climbed through the space and
stood behind her, she pointed at a golden glow far ahead.

Murdoch gripped her hand and she knew he was
thinking of other Fae portals, like the one of the Elphine Queen
and the one at the cottage. The smith’s knife could not have been
driven into the stone underfoot. Why had the smith taken it back?
He must have believed they no longer needed it.

“Do not eat,” Murdoch murmured.

“Do not drink,” Isabella agreed. She was well
aware that his hand was cold, colder than it should have been, and
she would not think of losing him in this place.

“And never look into their eyes,” they said
in unison, then crossed the threshold as one. They halted together,
astonished by the sight before them.

They had stepped into a cavern filled with
riches. It was not a room of small dimensions, and it was stacked
with gold and silver, gems and relics. There were half a dozen oil
lanterns lit, each one in itself a prize of workmanship. The flames
flickered only a little, the golden light making the contents of
the chamber look more splendid. Spriggans swarmed over the piles
like rats, muttering as they counted and rearranged in what seemed
to be an ongoing inventory.

One spriggan faced them both, its feet braced
against the ground and its eyes narrowed.

“Darg?” Isabella asked and the spriggan spat
at the floor before them with an animosity unexpected.

“Thieves,” the spriggan charged.

“I am no thief,” Murdoch insisted, his tone
reasonable “I come to regain the prize my father bought fairly.” He
indicated the treasure. “His coin is probably also here.”

Darg glared at him.
“Save your greed for
another’s hoard, for this gold will grace but one queen’s board. We
tithe again, against our will. Tithe to a second, we never will.
Cede to mortals? That will take, a force far greater than you can
make.”

Darg was a small but sinewy creature,
undoubtedly much stronger than it appeared. Isabella guessed that
it would not fight fairly, and wondered how they might outwit
it.

Murdoch seemed intent upon keeping it
talking.

“To whom do you tithe? The Elphine
Queen?”

“
The very same! For she is regent to all
we name. Her claim, though we did try, cannot any longer be
denied.” The spriggan spat again on the ground. “The other comes
with greed in his eye. He will not have a share, and so say
I.”

Murdoch eased closer to the spriggan, leaving
Isabella behind him. He crouched down before the ugly creature, his
manner amiable. “Who is the other?”

“
Finvarra from across the sea! King of
the
Daoine Sidhe
so is he. He plays chess with the Elphine
Queen, but we see the truth of his scheme. ’Tis gold he wants, our
gold for sure – we hide it deep so ’tis secure.”

“I seek only my father’s relic, rightfully
his own. What use have you for the hand of the Magdalene?”

“
It was ours once and is ours again,”
Darg snarled.
“And woe to any who make a claim. Gathered for
years, counted and stacked, our hoard ensures we know no
lack.”

“How so?” he asked. “You cannot eat it, and I
will wager that you do not sell it.”

He glanced around, as if acquainting himself
with their accomplishment. Isabella was impressed by his composure.
So far as she could see, the only way out was the way they had
entered. “It is an impressive collection. Did you move all of this
here, just this past night?”

“
Collected for years and hidden away, gold
ensures the light of day. We give at will, or snatch it back, the
better to see we have no lack.”

“So, you might grant a token from this hoard
to one who fed you, for example?”

“
It has happened before, I will not deny,
but do not think you can seize a prize.”
The spriggan darted
backward, scrambling toward the pile of treasure. Murdoch and
Isabella exchanged a glance of trepidation, then Isabella had an
idea.

“Elizabeth always noted that you had a
fondness for ale,” she cried after the spriggan, noting how its
eyes brightened.

It halted and turned. “Have you ale?”

“Not with us,” Isabella said, but Murdoch
spoke before she could continue.

“I left it with my horse, in the bailey
above.” He smiled. “I would trade you ale for the hand of the
Magdalene.”

The spriggan fidgeted with indecision,
glancing between its fellows and the mortal pair. Suddenly it
scampered toward Murdoch then whispered. “How much have you?”

“Only enough for one,” Murdoch admitted, as
if regretful.

The spriggan hissed.
“I do like a sip of
ale. It warms the blood, makes one feel hale. It prompts merriment
and joy, then sadness when ’tis alloyed.”

It thought, bit its lip, then raced toward
the glittering hoard. It returned a moment later, waving the
reliquary that Isabella recalled from years before. The reliquary
for the bones of the Magdalene’s hand was almost as long as the
spriggan was tall, and it was clearly heavy, for Darg struggled
with the burden of it.

Murdoch reached out to take it, but the
spriggan snatched it out of his reach.
“Nay, nay, not near so
quick! Bring first the ale, to prove no trick.”
It pointed at
Isabella.
“She stays, you go to fetch it true, and hasten lest I
not wait for you.”

“Surrender to me the chalice and platter from
Kinfairlie’s chapel, as well,” Isabella added. “For that was not
yours to take.”

“
A fine price you barter for your ale, I
hope it does fulfill your tale.”
The spriggan kept a grip on
the reliquary, calling to another spriggan in some kind of
gibberish. The other hauled out a platter and chalice wrought of
silver.
“I but show the tithe we will pay,”
Darg cried to
the other spriggan, clearly lying about its intent.
“The better
to keep evil at bay.”
The other spriggan did not appear to be
convinced by this, but at Darg’s snarl, it disappeared again,
leaving the chalice and platter on the floor.

Darg turned a bright gaze upon Murdoch, its
expectation clear. Murdoch turned and gave Isabella an intent look.
He pivoted as if to leave, but she knew he had a scheme. Darg
chuckled to itself in satisfaction, clearly pleased by the prospect
of ale in its belly.

“Isabella!” a man roared from the passageway
behind them. Murdoch froze and looked at Isabella.

“Alexander!” she whispered.

“More mortals!” Darg hissed and began to drag
the reliquary back toward the golden hoard. Isabella and Murdoch
leapt after the spriggan in unison. Murdoch seized the slippery
little creature, grimacing as it bit and fought. Isabella grabbed
the reliquary and held it tightly.

Darg let loose a yell of astonishing volume.
“Thieves!” it cried, and swarms of spriggans erupted from the pile
of treasure, teeth bared, then raced toward them.

“Run!” Murdoch cried, giving Isabella a push,
and she did exactly that. She glanced back when she had one foot on
the crevasse that led back to the passageway and saw that he had
drawn his sword against dozens of attacking spriggans.

She had to get the relic out of the caverns.
Although she wanted to aid him, she knew she had to ensure that his
quest was fulfilled. Perhaps she could entrust Alexander with the
relic, then come back to help Murdoch. She squirmed through the
narrow space, sheltering the relic with her cloak, that thought
bright in her mind.

“My tithe,” the Elphine Queen said, much to
Isabella’s astonishment. She reached for the relic, but Isabella
held it more tightly to her chest.

“You have had sufficient tithe from
Murdoch!”