The Renegade's Heart (37 page)

The Elphine Queen smiled. “It is for me to
say what is sufficient.” She did not snatch at the relic, to
Isabella’s relief, but stepped back and gestured to her
surroundings.

Isabella was shocked. She stared at the
frozen figures in the passageway, unable to believe that her family
had given chase. Alexander stood there, along with Rhys and
Elizabeth. Stewart was there, along with Gavin and another young
boy. They were all motionless, as if struck to stone.

But they blinked and watched, evidence that
they were aware of what occurred around them.

A chill ran down Isabella’s spine.

“And so the choice is yours, Isabella,” the
Elphine Queen said. Isabella fought the urge to look into her eyes.
“Surrender Murdoch to me and save these sorry souls, or become like
them, trapped in the caverns of Ravensmuir forever. I hear the
spriggans are vexed. It may not be long before they lose their
tempers and bring more ruin to this place.” She smiled coldly and
put out her hand for the relic. “Choose.”

* * *

Murdoch had to keep the spriggans from
injuring Isabella. Murdoch knew he might die in this cavern, but he
might die anyway. All the better to do so while ensuring both
Isabella’s escape and the retrieval of the relic for Seton Manor.
He intended to retrieve the platter and chalice from Kinfairlie’s
chapel, as well.

He sliced down the first spriggan that
assaulted him and was shocked by the loudness of the bellow it
emitted. Overhead, the rock trembled. He attacked the spriggans
with vigor as they surrounded him, snapping and snarling, looking
more like rats with every passing moment. He was horrified as they
began to crawl up his boots, and shouted himself when one slipped
into the top of his boot and bit his leg.

Murdoch roared with anger. He sliced two of
the vermin in half and black blood stained his sword. Another pair
were stabbed, back to back. At the same time, four leapt onto his
shoulders and bit him around the neck and ears. Another slipped
inside his collar, making him dance as he tried to work it out from
under his tabard. He could feel its claws as it crawled over his
skin and he knew it bit him. Murdoch slammed his back against the
wall, hoping to crush it. The force of his impact made the stone
overhead tremble again, and a rumble began at a distance.

When the spriggan in his shirt squeaked,
Murdoch made to crush it again.

“
He bears the marks of the Elphine
Queen!”
the spriggan cried, its voice slightly muffled. The
swarm of them around Murdoch’s feet froze. “
Injure him not, lest
she turn mean. We know her passion for her prize – injuring him
will cost our lives! One token lost is small prize to pay, lest we
do not survive the day.”

The spriggans clustered around his feet
stared at him with mingled awe and horror. Then they turned as one,
racing toward the pile of treasure and the dark nooks on the far
side of the chamber.

While he was still amazed, the spriggan
tumbled out of the bottom of Murdoch’s shirt. It shook itself,
regarded him with horror, and fled toward the pile of treasure. He
could not believe his luck, but then was shocked again when the
spriggans changed shape. As they ran, they became rats in truth,
whiskers growing out of their cheeks as their noses became long and
pointed. Tails erupted from their buttocks and their clothing
disappeared like leaves in an autumn wind. They sprouted brown fur
and small pink ears, their eyes gleaming like jet as they glanced
back at him.

And then they were gone, the hoard glittering
in the lantern light.

Murdoch strode toward the abandoned chalice
and platter, surprised by the weight of the cup alone. It was heavy
silver, beautifully embellished. He sheathed his sword and admired
the workmanship of the chalice before bending to pick up the
platter.

Murdoch was awed to hold such a treasure in
his hands.

“One of my favorites,” a man’s voice murmured
in his ear.

Murdoch spun but there was no one beside him.
The hair prickled on the back of his neck.

“Byzantine craftsmanship,” the voice
continued. “The purity of the silver reveals its origins, as does
the ornamentation.”

Murdoch turned slowly, scanning the chamber.
He felt his eyes narrow as he became aware of a rustling shadow at
his side, gradually becoming more substantial. When the chamber
chilled, Murdoch knew he had been joined by one of the dead.

The shade smiled. “My father gave this as a
gift to my mother, when Kinfairlie’s chapel was rebuilt and
reconsecrated. The entire village had been destroyed before she was
born, but he saw her legacy restored.” The shade touched the lip of
the chalice with a shadowy fingertip. “My parents and I shared an
affection for sterling.”

Murdoch could not help but wonder. “When was
this?”

“1372. Not so long ago.”

“And your parents, are they also in this
cavern?”

The shade shook his head. “I abide here
alone, trapped between three worlds – ours, theirs and the
next.”

Murdoch did not have to guess whose world was
‘theirs.’

“Ravensmuir exists at a junction, one where
the unwary can become lost and the wise can move beyond their
situations.” He smiled and offered his hand. “I was Tynan
Lammergeier.”

Murdoch took a step back, for this man had
not died so long ago. Tynan had auctioned the relics just three
years before – and he had died in the collapse of these caverns,
according to Isabella. “Laird of Ravensmuir.”

The ghost nodded, his gaze trailing to the
pile of treasure. “The seller of the hoard. The laird who chose
property over love. The man who learned too much too late.” He bent
down and retrieved a silver ring from the pile, plucking it out of
the medley with such surety that he must have known precisely where
it was located. He set it on the palm of his hand, stared at it for
a long moment, then smiled sadly. “And so I have haunted these
caverns, yearning for the opportunity to redress the balance and
atone for my error.”

“How?”

“I was not sure until this day. But there is
one who would speak with you and I can hear him.”

Murdoch’s throat clenched. Surely not?

But Tynan continued. “Should I facilitate
that, I may begin rest in peace myself.” He turned and gestured to
another shade in the grotto, one whose back was bent with age.

Murdoch recognized his father
immediately.

The old man appeared to be bewildered, and he
looked around the cavern with obvious uncertainty. Murdoch had time
to worry about his reception, that his father would accuse him just
as his brother had done. Then his father’s gaze fell upon Murdoch
and his face lit with joy.

“Lad!” he said in a voice that had once been
a roar and now was a whisper. “I knew you could not be dead, after
all!” He caught Murdoch in an embrace. It was a strange sensation,
like being surrounded by the chill of a shadow, but Murdoch
embraced his father in return.

“Duncan said you were certain I was
dead.”

“Until I died myself and could not find you.”
His father straightened and held Murdoch at arm’s length, surveying
him with satisfaction. “You have seen much and learned more.”

“I retrieved the relic. It will be back at
Seton Manor by Eastertide.”

His father smiled. “I knew I could rely upon
you. I am sorry that I did not listen to you sooner.” He shook his
head. “There was too much said between us, lad.”

“Mother said you oft did not care for the
reflection in the mirror,” Murdoch reminded him. “Nor always did
I.”

His father grinned. “’Tis not such a burden
for a man to be stalwart in his views. Your mother calls it
stubborn, but I see such resolve as a boon in most cases.” He
winked. “In the courting of a maiden’s affection, for example, it
stands a man most true.”

“Yes, it does,” Murdoch agreed, and his
father was well pleased by that implication.

“Be good to the lady in question and she will
return your love a thousandfold,” he said. They embraced again and
his father whispered in his ear. “Women are treasures in this
way.”

Indeed. Murdoch noticed that his father
seemed even less substantial than he had. He glanced up and met
Tynan’s steady gaze.

“Only I survive in this place,” that man
confided. “This is but a brief visit.”

“Your mother will be glad I saw you,”
Murdoch’s father said when he straightened. He studied Murdoch, as
if Murdoch faded to his view, and spoke more quickly. “She has been
chiding me these years for dying when there was too much left said
between us.”

“Give her my love, Father.”

“Aye. And know she sends hers to you.”

Murdoch saw the tears well in his father’s
eyes just before the vision of him faded. He caught his breath and
looked around, but Tynan was gone, as well. He made to lift the
chalice and platter that belonged in Kinfairlie’s chapel, then
heard a whisper again in his ear.

“Isabella is named for my mother,” Tynan
murmured as Murdoch felt a weight fall into his purse. “This should
adorn her finger now.” Murdoch reached into his purse and found the
heavy silver ring that Tynan had plucked from the pile of gems. He
had no time to study it, only to replace it in his purse, for the
rock overhead rumbled.

It was past time to flee.

* * *

Alexander could watch the horror unfold but
could do nothing to aid Isabella.

He and Rhys had returned to Kinfairlie, only
to have Elizabeth insist that the spriggans had gone to Ravensmuir,
and further that Isabella and Murdoch would be there. He had stood
no chance in leaving Elizabeth behind, and once she reminded him
that only she could see the Fae, he did not want to.

They had encountered an older man and two
squires on the road to Ravensmuir, and this man, Stewart, insisted
he knew Murdoch and rode to that man’s aid. It had made sense to
progress together, the better to resolve the situation.

It had been with some trepidation that they
had descended into the caverns, and now Alexander’s fears were
rewarded. All of them stood like pillars of salt. It was no
consolation that in this place and this moment, he could indeed see
the Fae.

Isabella was held captive by a woman who
could not be mortal. Her hair was as as black as a raven’s wing and
it flowed over her shoulders to pool on the floor. She bade
Isabella choose between them and Murdoch, and Alexander knew not
what to wish for.

The astonishing thing was that this dark lady
held a dreadful orb in her hand, one that looked to be a sphere of
crystal with a heart within it. That heart pulsing weakly, and
Alexander could see that it was turning black. It was as if the
heart rotted away, and he wondered what the token meant. Even in
its feeble state, the heart emitted a red light which illuminated
the cavern.

Murdoch stepped through the crevasse, just as
Isabella had done before him. He looked triumphant and to
Alexander’s relief, he carried the silver chalice and platter that
belonged in Kinfairlie’s chapel. There was dark blood on his boots
and dripping from the scabbard of his sword, and Alexander could
see bite marks on his neck. If he had had the power, he would have
shuddered.

As it was, Alexander felt a quiver of
recognition pass through the group. Then Murdoch glanced up, his
horror at the sight of them completely clear. His gaze darted to
Isabella and he made to step toward her.

The dark lady held up that orb and Murdoch’s
footsteps faltered. It seemed that he weakened at the sight. There
were marks all over his body, marks like those on the flesh of the
dark lady, and his flesh turned to a pale grey as Alexander
watched. Murdoch became insubstantial, and he was unsteady on his
feet.

Though Alexander had been vexed with this
man, he could not imagine that any soul deserved this fate.

Murdoch looked at Isabella, and there was no
doubt of his affection for Alexander’s sister. “You have enchanted
her,” he said to the woman, no real question in his voice.

The dark queen smiled. “Would you have me
take her, as well? You might have a pet of your own that way.”

“No! You must release her!”

“I do not have to do any such thing.” Her
gaze hardened. “End the game, Murdoch. Surrender to me now and I
might spare her.”

Alexander understood that Murdoch had borne
some curse from this woman. He eyed the weakened heart and had a
good idea of whose heart it mirrored, though he knew not how.

Dark sorcery.

“You will spare her. You will release all of
them, now.” Murdoch stepped forward, his expression grim. “I will
exchange myself for your captive. Take me again, Elphine Queen,
upon your word that they all go free.”

“He chooses me!” The dark queen’s eyes shone
with triumph. She flung Isabella aside and snatched for Murdoch,
but suddenly there was an obstacle between them. A bearded man
stepped into her path, holding up a hand. There was a similarity
between him and the dark lady, for his beard flowed like a river
and his eyes were as fathomless as her own. His raiment had a
similar sparkle about it, although hers sparkled like starlight and
his gleamed like the radiant sun.

“You!” she spat. “Out of my way. He
surrendered willingly.”

The man smiled and held up three fingers.
“No. The old charm yet holds. He committed three selfless deeds and
is already free of your spell.”

“No! He did not!”

The bearded man counted off Murdoch’s feats.
“He saw to the welfare of a horse, at risk to himself. He defended
the back of his squire in taking that horse to market, again at
risk to himself. And he trades his own life for that of his
beloved, that she might go free.”

“No!” cried the woman. “Seeing to the horse
and defending his squire are two sides of the same coin. I see
merely two deeds. He is yet mine.”