Unbound (20 page)

I
understood this – knew what death could do, knew how it could bend and
twist your life until it barely resembled the one you thought you had.

He
reached up to touch my cheek lightly. “Don’t look so sad for me, Rachel. You
must remember that I lost her a very long time ago. She’s only a memory now.”

“Does
the sadness really fade?” My father’s death still seemed so fresh. At any
moment, on any given day, all I had to do was really think about him and I felt
the hole he had left in my life – the terrible ache of wanting his
physical presence, needing his reassurance, never more than a thought away.

“Do
you mean for an immortal, or for anyone?”

“Both,”
I said.

“Fair
enough.” He seemed to think for a second. “When I first became immortal, I’d
assumed my long-term memory would become so full that eventually my older
memories would be lost.” His mouth twisted slightly. “If only I could wish it
so. It would have made this existence so much easier if my memories
deteriorated with time. But they don’t.” He sighed. “I remember everything.”

It
took awhile for me to process this. That he had lived for 1,500 years was
difficult enough to conceive, but to remember it all, every significant
experience, that was incomprehensible. I could only stare at him with mute empathy.

“To
answer your other question though – I do think the intensity of the
memories fade.” He looked thoughtful. “The emotions that are connected to them
become less intense with the passing of time. I think that’s true for mortals,
too, Rachel.” He leaned over and brushed my hair behind my ear tenderly. “It
won’t always hurt as much to think of your father.”

Trust
Eaden to know what I’d really been asking.

He
studied me. “You look tired,
mo cridhe
.
Will you sleep a little more?”

Like
some kind of silent alarm had been pressed, Sarah approached with a blanket and
pillow in hand. Shaking my head in mock exasperation, I decided not to fight
him. Although it felt like all I had done was sleep on and off since my run-in
with Sabas, I was tired and until things returned to normal, I wasn’t sure when
I might get a full night’s sleep again. I wondered what normal would look like
when this was all said and done. Could my life ever be normal again? Knowing
what I was?

Leaning
over the table, Eaden kissed me lightly and left the main cabin to enter the
cockpit. Snuggling under my blanket, I tried not to worry about my mother, my
grandmother, my friends. Tried not to think about the danger they might be in.
As frightened and uncertain as I was about my own future, I hoped that Sabas
would come for me and not them. My tremulous hope was that Eaden was as good at
this real-life game of strategy as he was with pawns and crooks. With visions
of a giant chessboard in my head, upon which all of my loved ones stood, I
drifted back to sleep.

*
         
*
         
*
         
*
         
*

My
eyes opened to the daylight that filtered in through the windows of the plane.
Eaden was beside me, eyes closed, hands clasped on his chest, breathing evenly.
Realizing I had never seen him asleep, I stared at him in wonder. He looked
incredibly young without the wisdom in his eyes to spoil the illusion –
like a boy my own age rather than the man he was.
 
He’d obviously washed up – the blood
in his hair completely gone, and there was no trace of the bruise that had
blackened his cheekbones less than 24 hours ago. Although he’d changed into
jeans and a wool sweater, I noted with some pleasure that he hadn’t shaved. His
beard was beginning to grow in and he looked charmingly scruffy. Resisting the
urge to wake him, I recognized that my own personal hygiene could use some
attention. Easing gently out of my seat I approached the back of the cabin,
hoping at least to splash some water on my face and run my fingers through my
hair with the aid of a mirror.

Sarah
saw me coming. “Good morning, Rachel. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes,
thanks,” I said, avoiding eye contact. Having no idea what she knew about
Eaden, I wasn’t sure what she could possibly make of me as his travel
companion. Politely, she held up her hand to hold me in place and turned to
pick up a small red leather suitcase that rested against the wall of the cabin.

“Mr.
MacAlister phoned ahead and had me prepare a few
things for you,” she said, handing me the valise. She eyed me appraisingly. “He
guessed at your size, but I’d say he guessed right. Let me know if you need
anything else.”

I could tell my mouth was hanging open a little.

“He’s rather special, isn’t he?” she said, her bright
smile fixed in place.

“Yes, he really is,” I agreed. Nonplussed, I ducked
into the bathroom to change.

Eaden was awake when I rejoined him, drinking coffee
and reading the newspaper. His eyes lit up when he saw me and setting aside his
coffee mug, he stood to greet me. It was such an old-fashioned gesture –
something you only read about in turn of the century novels – that I
think I fell in love with him a little more. Eaden wore his chivalry like an
expensive suit; it only enhanced his already fine qualities.

I flashed him a grateful smile. “Thank you,” I said,
gesturing at the fresh clothes I was wearing. Following Eaden’s lead, I had
chosen a pair of jeans and a thick sweater.

He wrapped me in a warm hug, kissing the top of my
head. “You are most welcome,
mo cridhe.”

Hugging back, I luxuriated in the sanctuary that his
presence provided – being held in his arms felt as natural as breathing.

Sarah approached quietly with a cup of coffee and a
small tray laden with fruit and yogurt. She set it down on the table in front
of me. “I thought you might be hungry,” she said.

Taking the black coffee, I thanked her and sat down
across from Eaden. I wasn’t sure how much I would be able to eat, but my
appetite kicked in after a few bites and I filled my plate.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” I asked between mouthfuls.
Eaden sat watching me with a smile.

“Sarah brought me something while you slept.” He
gestured towards the tray. “Go ahead, it’s all for you.”

But he didn’t stop staring.

“What?” Feeling self-conscious I put my spoon down and
wiped my lips.

His smile stretched in to a broad grin. “Nothing,
really. Please eat.”

I glared at him until finally, he relented.
 

He spoke without taking his eyes from me, an
almost-goofy grin on his face. “I just realized how happy I am, Rachel.” He
shook his head in wonder “If nothing else happens for the rest of my existence,
this will be enough, just having you here with me, right now.”

As hungry as I thought I was, my appetite moved down
the priority list. Standing, I moved in front of him, placing one knee on
either side and then lowering myself down on his lap. Twining my arms around
his neck, I kissed him slowly, not hurrying, simply enjoying the contact of our
lips and the raspy scratch of his beard on my cheek. Only when his hands
tightened around me and began to slide down to my waist did I pull back.

“You make me very happy too,” I said.

His eyes held that hungry look I had seen before, and
for once, he seemed more breathless than I was. Kissing him lightly on the
nose, I disentangled myself and sat back down in my own seat to eat my
breakfast.

With a deep exhalation, he rubbed his thumb across his
chin and considered me warily, looking amused. “You,
mo cridhe
, are far more dangerous than you look.”

Laughing, I nodded, enormously pleased with myself.
Perhaps I was getting the hang of this.

Shortly after I finished my second helping, Sarah let
us know we were about to begin our descent. Buckling back into my seat, I
realized that although I was still nervous, the idea of landing didn’t seem
quite as traumatic as the takeoff. To help ease my anxiety, Eaden recited lines
from
The Lord of the Rings
while I
tried to identify the volume they came from. Laughing, I realized how absurdly
fortunate I was to be with someone as nerdy as I was. We were both so at ease
that it was easy to forget – if only for a few hours – that this
impromptu trip had been inspired by an attempted homicide. A murder- suicide,
to be precise.

My temporary amnesia ended the moment we landed. The
plane had barely come to a standstill when Eaden took out his phone and began
speaking in the same language I had recognized last night. While he was
thoroughly engaged in his conversation, I surreptitiously unbuckled my seatbelt
and walked over to where Sarah was preparing for us to disembark.
 

“Thanks for everything,” I said feeling awkward again.

She flashed me her bright smile. “Of course, it’s been
lovely meeting you.” Her singsong accent made her words as delightful as her
smile.

I glanced back at Eaden, who was still speaking with
intensity into the phone. “Do you happen to know what language he’s speaking
right now?”

Her smile tightened a little and she hesitated.
“Latin,” she said finally. “Have a lovely visit.” Turning her back to me, she
continued her work.

Latin – that’s why it had seemed vaguely
familiar. I’d studied Latin a little through the library; it was recommended
for historical archivists. Yet the way Eaden spoke the language seemed
different, richer, and more vibrant than anything I’d ever heard recorded.

He was beside me again, a small crease visible between
his eyebrows.

“Is everything okay?” I asked. My thoughts flew to my
mother. “Did something happen?”

“As far as I can tell, everyone is okay at home.” He
rubbed my back, but still seemed disconcerted.

“Eaden?” I was frustrated by his reticence after
everything we had agreed upon.

He sighed. “I’m not holding back, Rachel, truly. It’s
just that I’d rather talk this over once we reach our destination.”

I gave him my best stubborn look. “Fine, but I won’t
forget.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

We said goodbye to Sarah, waved our thanks to the
pilots, and walked out to the tarmac.
 
Much like the airstrip we had left behind, the runway seemed to be in
the middle of nowhere, but the similarities ended there. Although I had been to
Scotland once before, nothing in my visit to the city of Glasgow would have
prepared me for our current surroundings. It looked more alien than any place
on earth I could dream up; small, scrubby bushes and jagged boulders battled
for purchase on soil that looked as if it was vigorously trying to shrug them
both off. The dark clouds that hovered and roiled on the horizon made a
ferocious ceiling above towering cold mountains I hadn’t imagined existed.
Harsh and wild, it was both stunning and terrifying.

Looking around, I shivered and wrapped my arms around
myself. “Where are we?” I asked softly.

Eaden filled his lungs and looked enormously
satisfied. “We’re in the highlands,
mo
cridhe
,” he said. “Where else?”

A sleek black car sat waiting for us on the tarmac and
Eaden redirected me with a smile when I climbed into the driver’s seat by
accident. “Would you like to drive, Rachel?”

I snorted with laughter as I awkwardly scrambled over
the stick shift to the left side passenger seat, not willing to take the bet
that he wasn’t joking. Eyeing the set of keys that rested in the ignition,
placed there by some invisible hand, I shook my head in exasperation.

Eaden glanced at me, his expression quizzical. “What?”

“Seriously, are you James Bond?” The plane, the car,
the flight attendant. It was a little too much.

He frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. James Bond is
fictional.”

“Right,” I said. “Because being immortal is so much
more believable.”

“He’s also a womanizer.” He leaned over to kiss me
quickly on the mouth. “And I’m a one woman kind of man.”

There was only a small part of me that wished I wasn’t
so affected by that comment. Disoriented, I noted from the digital clock on the
dashboard that it was nearly lunchtime here. I wouldn’t have guessed that
right. Time was beginning to lose meaning for me. Before Eaden, my days had
pretty much had the same pattern. Wake, run, work, read, sleep, repeat. Now, I
felt as if each moment was unique, the pattern of this new life not yet
predictable, or even comprehensible. It was uncomfortable. It was also exhilarating.
I felt more alive than I could ever remember.

We drove the narrow twisting roads that wound up and
down enormous hills at speeds I hadn’t thought physically possible, the views
breathtaking and terrifying and nauseating all at once. Stupid with half a
night’s sleep, I wondered naively how people knew the roads were all one-way
until we came nose to nose with our first passing car; my shrill scream woke me
up completely. While Eaden patiently tried to explain single-track roads and
passing spots to me, I closed my eyes and tried to restart my heart.

Soon enough, the winding paths that passed for two
lane roads broadened slightly and the cragged, desolate hills were slowly
transformed by green shrubs and trees. Just as slowly, my terror was replaced
by wonder as the views of Ben Nevis filled the windscreen. Looking at the snow
topping the rough-hewn slopes, I could easily understand why the word “majestic”
was often reserved for mountains.

Seemingly unmoved by the scenery, Eaden seemed to have
left his carefree demeanour on the plane. The farther we drove, the more the
slight crease between his brows turned into a concentrated frown. Occasionally,
he squinted while staring straight ahead at the road as if he were mulling over
some piece of information that didn’t make sense. But I was accustomed to long
silences. Fond of them even. Being able to sit comfortably in another person’s
presence without words felt more intimate to me than filling quiet spaces with
chatter. We drove silently for almost an hour, our hands sometimes clasped
across the seats, our gazes in other places.

The landscape changed more quickly than I expected. It
wasn’t until I realized that we were hemmed in by dense vegetation on either
side that I understood we were in a forest. I hadn’t realized Scotland could be
so green. Staring into the moss covered shadows; I thought I caught the
occasional glimpse of water through the trees, gone as quickly as I saw it.
Used to a country that stretched for thousands of kilometres unchanging, the
metamorphosis from scrubby highland to verdant wetland was almost magical.
 

Eaden’s hand left the steering wheel to press against
my cheek.

“How are you faring, Rachel?”

Still looking out the window, I shrugged. “Good,
because I’m with you. Bad, because I’m worried about everyone at home and I
don’t know what’s happening.” I turned to look at him. “Can you tell me where
we’re going now?”

“It will be easier to show you.” He nodded towards the
trees on our right. “Do you see the water there?”

 
“The lake?”
The shore was visible now, grassy banks leading to stones along what seemed a
narrow band of water, bordered by steep hills.

“We call them lochs in Scotland. We’re at Loch
Linnhe.”

A few minutes later, we turned off the main road and
followed a smaller track around the western side of the shore. The bumpy road
led us deeper into the trees, tall pines and oaks that towered up with silent
authority. My teeth had begun to rattle as the road disintegrated further,
becoming no more than a path with ruts. Spiralling around a deep bend in the
road, the first thing I saw were the horses. Three beautiful animals grazed
serenely at the edge of a pasture, at the break in the trees; my eye drawn
immediately to a tall black stallion that stood inches above the others. He
raised a graceful head to look at us as we passed.

We pulled up in front of a one-storey stone cottage, entirely
unpretentious in its prettiness. A cobbled stone path led up to the sturdy
door, flanked by wild rose bushes.
 
Fragrant wood smoke puffed from the weathered stone chimney and although
empty now, the multiple gardens that surrounded the house looked well cared
for. Set higher on an embankment, the front of the cottage was level with the
cobbled path, but even from a distance I could see that the back of the
structure dropped down to the shores of the loch. It was the kind of cottage
that belonged in a fairy tale, the kind of cottage that Snow White herself would
greet us at, birds in hand, without surprise.

I was so mesmerized by the charm of the cottage, it
took a few seconds for me to register that Eaden held my door open and was
waiting patiently for me to exit. Pulling myself from my reverie, I was halfway
out of the car when I caught sight of a black cannonball hurtling towards him at
an alarming speed. My mouth opened to cry out a warning and then stayed that
way as I realized a lithe young woman now clung to his back like a monkey;
although the howl she let out was more hyena than primate to my untrained ear.

For his part, Eaden looked anything but alarmed.
Rather, he seemed slightly annoyed. “
Go
N’ithe an diabhal do chat,
Mara. Leave off for a moment.”

Grinning demonically, she jumped off his back and
walked towards me, her long black hair so glossy it looked as if it had been
polished. The large stripe of purple that ran from the crown of her head down
to the ends swung in front of her face before she tucked it behind her ear in
an oddly girlish gesture.
 
But it
was her eyes that held me rooted to the spot, my mouth still gaping open like
some sort of dullard’s. Her eyes were a startling shade of violet, the color so
concentrated that I found it hard to look away.

Giggling, she turned to look over her shoulder at
Eaden, who stood looking exasperated. “Well, she’s pretty, but she doesn’t seem
too bright.”

“Be nice, Mara,” he said.

Schooling her expression, she turned back towards me
and extended her hand, her arm covered in tattoos of line drawings and symbols
I didn’t recognize.

“Lovely to meet you…?”She waited, amused, for me to fill
in the blanks.

“Rachel,” I managed to get out, with far more
difficulty than should have been necessary.

She smiled. “Hello, Rachel. Welcome.”

Without warning, she spun on her heel and threw a
hard, fast punch up at Eaden’s shoulder. Suggesting this was a long-standing
game between them, by the time she had whirled around, he had already stepped
out of her way. Sticking out her pierced tongue, she grabbed my hand and began
to walk towards the cottage, nearly dragging me along with her.

“We’ve been dying to meet you,” she said, looking me
over so completely that I felt my cheeks burn under her appraisal. “Eaden has
been so secretive about you, we weren’t sure you even existed.”

“That sounds like him,” I said, shooting him a
questioning look over my shoulder. Who was this hell kitten?

Eaden smiled reassuringly and gestured for me to keep
walking. Whoever she was, clearly I wasn’t in any danger.

Mara opened the front door of the cottage and a black
cat shot past us and then stopped in its tracks when it saw Eaden. Trotting
towards him, the cat pushed its head roughly against his shin, its tail dancing
comically in pleasure.

“Remember him, do you Satan?” Mara blithely addressed
the tom. She gave me a significant look. “Satan is very fond of Eaden –
kindred spirits of a sort – having nine lives and all.”

Still more stunned than sentient, I didn’t resist when
she began to tug me through the door. “We’re going to fix tea,” she told Eaden
with authority. “He’s in the back room.”

Eaden nodded and seemed to studiously ignore my look
that pleaded for rescue. He disappeared down the hallway as Mara led me to the
kitchen.

“Sit,” she gestured towards a wooden stool that sat
off to the side. Gratefully, I did and quietly watched her as she worked. The
kitchen suited the cottage perfectly – flagstone walls and a sturdy
hearth were showcased by the enormous copper pots that hung throughout the
space. A solid butcher block table was the most prominent feature in the homely
room, large enough to seat a dozen people comfortably, but still small enough
to maintain the intimacy the kitchen inspired.

“You don’t say much, do you?” Mara leaned against the
counter, regarding me with interest.

“Not really,” I said. No point in giving her the wrong
impression.

“No wonder he likes you.” She laughed as I felt my
cheeks burn again. “And demure too, so perfect for him,” she muttered down at
the countertop as she cut thick slices of bread from a fresh loaf.

I wanted to protest her use of the word demure. Naïve
yes. Definitely self-conscious. But my recent reactions to Eaden had revealed a
part of me that was far less priggish than even I might have assumed.
Prudently, I held my tongue.

She eyed me thoughtfully. “I’m still getting used to
the fact that Eaden has a girlfriend.” She said the last word as if it were in
an unfamiliar tongue. “It’s not like him, you know. He’s usually such a
stickler about rules and decorum.” She rolled her eyes. “Why behave well when
behaving badly is so much more fun?”

“Are you immortal, too?” Something in her voice belied
her youthful appearance.

She barked a laugh and looked appalled. “Me? Thank the
Goddess, no.” She peered at me, intrigued. “You really don’t know, do you? He
didn’t tell you?” She shrugged. “I’m one of the Sisters of Cailleach.” Noting
my incomprehension, she clarified, “I’m a witch.” Her toothy grin was both
threatening and comical.

But of course. Snow White’s country kitchen wouldn’t
be complete without a witch brewing tea. As if to emphasize this point, Satan
slunk into the room and twined around Mara’s legs.

She stopped then and placed the knife beside the
cutting board. Holding herself very still, she stared at me, all traces of humor
gone from her vivid violet eyes, transforming from maiden to crone without any
visible alteration of her appearance.

A chill crept slowly down my spine. Silence spread
into the corners of the room, stilling the creaks and rustles of the old house.

“Do you love him, Rachel?”

My heart thudded painfully in my chest. “Yes.”

For a heartbeat, maybe two, she held my gaze
forcefully and then nodded, satisfied. “Then there is still hope.”
 

As quickly as it had come, the storm passed and sound
returned. Lifting the tray filled with bread, cheese, and jam, she gestured
towards the other end of the cottage. “Make yourself useful and help me with
the doors.”

The back room was a rather unjust description for the
space we entered. A friendly fire crackling in the fireplace threw an amber hue
over the soft layered furnishings. At a quick glance, every surface seemed to
be draped in lush fabrics or populated with patterned throw cushions as if we
were ensconced within a sultan’s tent. The effect was heightened by a set of
sweeping glass doors, which led to a wide wooden deck overlooking the loch. The
water glistened as the early afternoon sun poked out from behind heavy clouds,
an ellipse of light fighting against a dark veil of haze. The trees that lined
the bank below swayed in the wind that churned frothy swells towards the center
of the loch. Inexplicably, my heart ached. If longing had a home, it might live
here.

I was so absorbed by the scenery that when Eaden
stepped forward to touch me lightly on the back, I jumped and spun, startled.

He frowned slightly, as if somehow he might be responsible
for my ridiculously sensitive nervous system. “Rachel, may I introduce Amerlyn
Ambrosius, one of the finest alchemists in history, and one of my oldest and
dearest friends.”

He gestured to the diminutive man who stood before me,
clad in corduroys and an argyle sweater that looked too long in the arms, a
grandfatherly smile already spreading across his features. To call this man old
was to call Mount Everest big. He was simply ancient. And yet, there was
nothing decrepit about him. His green eyes sparkled with vigour and although he
moved towards me slowly, he seemed to have retained a fluid grace that belied
his white hair and heavily lined features.