Chapter Twenty

As the hazy light of dusk fell over the land, Alastair picked his way through the rubble strewn across the courtyard. The castle was no longer secure. He had placed several warriors to guard the breach, but most of the men were busy tending the wounded or burying the dead. So much destruction and pain caused by one man who wanted someone he could no longer have.

Lieutenant Long would no doubt make a second attack on the castle once his men regained their nerves. Fisting his hands, Alastair stepped through the ragged hole in the curtain wall. He tried to think of something besides the death and destruction wrought this day. There was no time for despair. He needed to stay focused and in control while he moved out to and negotiated with Lieutenant Long for the sake of his clan.

Alastair knew he took a risk, heading for the enemy alone, but he had put his men in enough danger this day. The thought had barely formed when Tormod and Graeme appeared on either side of him.

“You did not think we would let you face that man alone, did you?” Graeme asked, falling into step beside the laird.

“I had hoped you would stay behind and help the others,” Alastair said, then added, “But I do thank you for always standing beside me.”

“Let us go get this over with,” Tormod said, clutching the pommel of his sword as they approached the eerily silent English campsite that had been set before their conflict had begun.

Watchfires had been set, but not yet lit around the sprawling camp. The activity Alastair had expected after a battle retreat was non-existent. Instead of caring for their wounded or burying the dead, the men lay on the ground, asleep.

To test that theory and to make certain it was not a trap, Alastair lifted a man’s arm and let it fall. No response. Still not fully convinced, he found a stick and poked another man in his most private area and garnered no response. Alastair allowed himself a smile of satisfaction. It would have been difficult to fake unconsciousness with a thrust to that area if the man were not fully dosed with the augmented whisky and sleeping.

Feeling more secure about their safety, they moved about the camp. “Perhaps we can simply find the lieutenant and transport him back to England,” Graeme suggested.

“He would only return.” Alastair continued to search the faces of the men they passed. There were too many of them to take to Dunshee castle. They would have to determine another way to dissuade them from returning to Dunvegan.

Alastair, Graeme and Tormod walked through the camp for several more minutes until they came to a campfire that had been lit. A single man stood before it, staring into the flames.

As they approached, Lieutenant Long turned to them, and raised his pistol. “I can only shoot one of you before you reach me. But at least I will have the satisfaction of knowing one of you will join me in hell.”

“No one has to die this day,” Alastair said, stepping forward, making himself a more accessible target than his brothers.

Lieutenant Long kept his pistol aimed at Alastair’s chest. “Another ploy? You have already drugged my men. You sent fantastical vines to toss our cannons. What else do you have in store for me?”

Alastair slowly moved his hand inside the tail of his tartan and withdrew the missive the rider had brought back from the Earl of Aberdeen. “I have an offer for you. One you will find hard to refuse.” He held out the folded parchment as he stepped ever closer.

A deep frown cut across the lieutenant’s face. “What kind of trick is this now? I open the parchment and it explodes in my face?”

Alastair unfolded the paper. “No tricks. I come to offer you a promotion to the rank of major in the British Army.”

The pistol wobbled in the lieutenant’s hands. “Why would you do such a thing? There must be some concession you would like me to make.”

“There is,” Alastair replied, moving to stand before the man. “You put away your pistol, then promise to leave Scotland, break your betrothal to Rosalyn, and never attempt to see or speak to her again, and the commission is yours.”

The lieutenant’s gaze shifted to the parchment in Alastair’s hand. “How did you accomplish this?”

“I have friends in high positions in the English government.”

The lieutenant pressed his lips together as he released the cock of the pistol then shoved it into his belt. He snatched the parchment from Alastair’s hand. His eyes flared as he read the words written there. “There are no strings attached?”

“None that I have not already mentioned. But with those three things, you must comply.”

The lieutenant looked beyond Alastair to Graeme and Tormod. “What if the British Army sends me back to Scotland?”

“As a major, you would have some say in your placement,” Alastair replied. “See that it is not Scotland. Besides, there are other conflicts around the world where your skills might be better suited.”

“My skills.” The lieutenant laughed. “If I accept, how do I know you will not attack me as soon as I turn my back on the three of you?”

“You have our word as Scots. We say what we mean.” Alastair’s voice was hard. “Your future, for Rosalyn’s life. What will it be?”

The lieutenant palmed the parchment and turned, running for the trees where a lone horse waited. Alastair and his brothers waited until the sound of hoofbeats faded into the distance.

“Will he stay away, do you think?” Graeme asked.

“I believe he will, though others will come in his stead. Our conflict with the English is far from over.”

Tormod looked around the campsite at all the sleeping men. “What will we do with these soldiers?”

“When they discover their leader has abandoned them, they will most likely return to England,” Alastair said.

“And tell the tale of an enchanted castle, no doubt,” Graeme said with a sigh.

“That is where we come into play,” Orrick’s voice came from behind them.

The three men turned to see Orrick and Callum approaching the campsite. “We have come to make certain they all believe what happened today was simply a bad dream.”

Callum carried his mandolin, but as they had discussed earlier, they did not carry the plate of glass with them to throw Callum’s image. At Alastair’s questioning gaze, Callum replied, “We tested the image-throwing outside before coming out to join you, and the trick did not work with so much light we did not control. It will be up to the four of you to protect me as I wander through the camp, lacing these men’s dreams with suggestions of fairy stories that will make it hard for them to recall what was real and what was not. Even if they do remember some of what happened here, no one back home would ever believe such muddled and fantastical tales.”

“I hope you are correct,” Tormod said with a frown.

Callum’s brows knit as he moved his mandolin into position to play. “You know a lot about war, Tormod.” Callum strummed the strings, filling the air with a bright, twangy, and high-pitched melody. “However, I know a lot about music and dreaming.”

Without waiting for a response, Callum strolled about the campsite. His music held a sweet and lyrical quality. As Callum walked, he sang of fantastical beasts and the fairy stories their mother had always told them of at bedtime when they were children.

Listening to Callum sing the songs of their youth, Alastair realised that the legends surrounding the MacLeods and the fairy realm reflected that interconnectedness of the two entities. The world of the fae survived and flourished because of the MacLeods’ belief. And the MacLeods thrived and were made strong by the protection of the fae and by intertwining with them.

Perhaps that is what they needed to communicate to Oberon to make the fairy king see that together, humans and fairies were better together than they were apart. He turned to Tormod and Graeme. “Stay and protect our brother. I must go see Keiran. I have an idea that might help us in our battle against Oberon.”

*

In the fadinglight of the day, Aria stared at the vines that had wrapped themselves around the old keep. “This must be the work of Oberon.”

“Only he would think to bar those who live here from accessing their own home,” Gille agreed.

“It is the fairy king’s trap all right,” Pearl said, sniffing the thick vine in front of her. “I can smell the magic on the fibres within the plant.”

Gille frowned as she tried to wrap her hands around one of the overly large vines. It was bigger than her two hands put together. “How will we move this plant? You saw what happened when the English accidentally struck one part of it with rubble. It retaliated.”

“Keiran was able to tease one vine away from the doorway with water,” Aria said. “Perhaps we could do the same? Mother, you and I can bring water to the plant like a carrot on a string. Hopefully it will follow when we lead it away from the keep and into the garden outside of the gates.”

“I have a better idea, one that might help the vines find a permanent home here at Dunvegan.” Pearl moved over to where the vine had sprouted and lifted a handful of dirt into her hands. She ran the gritty soil through her fingers, feeling the composition of the dirt. “The soil here is poor.” She turned to her daughters. “I suggest we get a wagon of dirt from the garden or the forest floor that is dense with nutrients and lure the vines away with that.”

“I can secure a wagon and horses,” Aria said, gazing at the purple and grey light that warned of looming darkness. “Whatever we do, we must do it quicky.”

“I will go to the edge of the forest and identify the richest soil,” Gille said.

“Mother, would you ask the men to bring several torches?” Aria asked. “I will gather the wagon and horses and meet you both at the edge of the trees.” Moving the vines would only be the first and possibly easiest part of unravelling the trap Oberon had no doubt set for Rosalyn, Keiran, and anyone else worthy of his wrath, Aria thought as she headed for the stables.

It did not take long to hitch the horses to the wagon. Aria guided the equipage through the gates and to the area of the woods now illuminated with torches. Several of the warriors stopped their work collecting rubble to help the women fill the wagon with soil quickly. Then, instead of heading back to the castle, the same warriors carried the torches into the garden where Gille had prepared a spot between the round garden and the water garden that Fiona had been working on over the past several months. The two distinct gardens were starting to take shape under her direction.

Half of the soil was spread on the ground where they wanted the vine to situate itself. The other half of the soil was shovelled out as the wagon rolled back towards the keep, leaving a trail of dirt behind. Only a few handfuls of dirt remained when they came to a stop beside the vines. After asking one of the warriors to take over for her as the driver, Aria jumped down from the bed of the wagon with her two hands filled with dirt and sprinkled it on the largest branch she could reach.

In the pale torchlight, the branch quivered, as though responding to the stimulus. A tendril reached out, searching for more. It coiled and stretched until it reached the dirt on the ground, then slowly the entire branch released its grip on the keep, slithering along the path they had laid.

One after another, the branches released the keep, until the entire plant crept along the path like an oversized spider in the moonlight towards the space Aria had planned. When the base of the plant settled into the layer of rich soil, it perforated the ground with roots, anchoring itself in place. And, with a final quiver, it unfurled its leaves and ceased its movements, acting as though it were like any other plant in the garden.

While Aria, her mother, and sister stood, basking in their success, the warriors who had helped them returned to the castle. Aria closed her eyes and allowed the silence of the night to flow around her. For centuries now, she had been trying to understand Oberon. She had studied him, trying to learn his vulnerabilities. And every time she thought she had him figured out, he surprised her. Would this be the last test the fairy king would throw their way?

Even as the question formed, she dismissed it. Rosalyn and Keiran were both missing. The fairy king was no doubt responsible for that, meaning their battle with Oberon was far from over.

At the sound of footsteps behind her, Aria opened her eyes and turned to see one of the warriors running towards them. The torch in his hands illuminated his overly bright eyes. “What has happened?” Aria asked.

“Now Fiona is missing,” the warrior said, his voice raw.

A dark shiver passed through Aria. Oberon!