1983
If it hadn’t been for the cloud of midges round his head which were keeping him awake, Gale would probably have ended up sliced and diced into a bloody puddle. As it was, when the heavy swipe came and his eyes flickered open just in time, he could do no more than roll out of its way. That’s what happens when you use a sleeping bag instead of simply the mossy heather and the open air.
His attacker grunted and tried again, lumbering after him and continuing to swing the damned ax. Trussed up like a damned caterpillar, Gale fumbled with the zip. It was caught on the edge of the fabric, however, so he was forced to try and wiggle his way out instead. He writhed and kicked but the sleeping bag was determined not to let him go. It was unfortunate that his would-be killer felt the same.
Whoever had decided to interrupt his attempts at slumber had been focusing solely on the element of surprise to provide success. It was clear that the ax they were wielding was far too cumbersome for their slight frame. All the same, still entangled in the sleeping bag as he was, Gale remained in danger. Giving up on extricating himself for now, he focused on getting as far away as possible. He spun to his right, rolling over again and again and ducking his head down to avoid any encounters with sharp rocks jutting out of the ground. When he reached the slope, he began to pick up momentum. There was a frustrated curse from behind as he tumbled away.
Scratched and bruised, he came to a halt in a natural dip. Gale struggled to get to his feet, almost tripping over the smothering sleeping bag that was still wrapped around most of his body. He yanked it down over his hips and legs and finally managed to kick the dratted thing away. Now he was ready to face his enemy.
Far away from any city lights, the night here was dark and smothering. He could make out little more than a dark shape flying towards him. He noted again the slim shape. This was no Wild Man or troll. Eyes narrowing slightly, he braced himself for the next barrage.
The attacker leapt at him, yelling aloud. The ax was raised in the air but there was a definite wobble to the arm holding it aloft. He side-stepped left in the split second before it crashed down on his head and pivoted round, grabbing the offending wrist. There was a sharp, almost boyish cry, and the ax fell to the ground with a dulled thump. Wasting no further time, Gale wrenched the arm. When there was another high-pitched yell of pain, he reached up with his one free hand and yanked down the hood covering his enemy’s face. Then he blinked.
Tousled hair framed a heart-shaped face with a dusting of light freckles across a delicate nose. A pair of almond shaped eyes glared at him. Sidhe. And not just any Sidhe either – a remarkably pretty one.
“Let me go!” she spat.
He rocked back slightly on his heels and regarded her. “Not until you tell me why you were trying to murder me in my sleep.”
She tossed back her head. “You’re intruding on our lands.”
“No,” Gale replied calmly, “I’m not. In fact, I’m here with full permission of the Chieftain.”
The flash of disgust in her eyes told him everything he needed to know. Whoever this girl was, she had little time for the Ochterlony lord. She struggled against his grip but he held her fast. “He didn’t say anything.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Maybe he had better things to do than explain himself to every low level Clan-ling.”
His amusement only served to increase her ire. “You stuck up wanker!”
Gale winced with overt drama. “There’s no need for such language.” She launched out a sharp kick at his shin but he kept her at arm’s length so she was able to do little more than scuff his leg. “Explain why you felt the need to attack first and ask questions later.”
“Tell me who you are first.”
He doffed an imaginary cap. “Gale Adair. At your service, mademoiselle.”
She jerked. “Adair?” She gazed at the hat covering his head. To oblige her curiosity, he whipped it off, revealing the snow white hair underneath. She sucked in a breath.
His smile grew. “Yes. Chieftain Eoin invited me here to investigate reports of troublesome Baugans sneaking onto his land and stealing his sheep. Who are you?”
Her nose wrinkled. “They’re not Baugans. He wouldn’t know a Baugan if it jumped and slammed on his thick skull.”
“Then what are they?”
She looked away. “You wouldn’t believe me,” she muttered.
He ran his eyes down her body. She was quivering from head to toe but it was more from rage than from fear. “Try me,” he said softly.
“Fomori demons.”
Gale was so taken aback that he dropped her wrist. She pulled away and rubbed it, still glaring. “Told you.”
“All the Fomori demons are behind the Veil. No-one outside of the Lowlands has seen one since 1745.”
Her chin jutted out. “No-one except me.”
“Let’s say I do believe you,” he said, not for a second giving her wild allegations any credence, “why would Fomori demons concern themselves with sheep rustling?”
“They don’t want the damned sheep.”
He cocked his head. “Then what do they want?”
She sighed and pushed her fringe back out of her eyes. “Me.”
Before he could even begin to ask her to elaborate, she spun away, running back up the hill and away. He was tempted to go after her but she had a lightness of foot that suggested he’d just end up embarrassing himself and falling far behind if he tried. Instead he watched her disappear over the crest without so much as a single glance back at him.
***
“It’s Kincaid’s fault,” Aifric told him three days later at the Cruaich, the main Sidhe stronghold which represented all of the Clans. “She’s engaged to the Bull so William Kincaid used his Gift at her behest to see what kind of future they were going to have. You’d know all this if you spent more time in company instead of roaming around the Highlands looking for trouble.”
“Precognition?” Gale asked, trying to ignore the strange dip in his stomach at the knowledge that the girl was already spoken for. He tried and failed to imagine her with the thuggish Bull. He hoped she knew what she was getting herself into.
His old friend nodded. “Yeah. Instead of a happy future with chubby cheeked children, however, he saw a lot of blood.”
Gale felt a chill. “And Fomori demons?”
Aifric rolled his eyes. “No. Just a dark shape. Coira took that to mean Fomori. She’s jumping at shadows.”
Coira. So that was her name. It rolled around in his head. It suited her. “How do you know it’s not real?” he asked. “If there really are Fomori demons out and about…”
Aifric clapped his hand on Gale’s shoulder. “You know how unreliable precognition is. Do you even remember what he foretold for you right after he got his Gift?”
Gale shifted uncomfortably. “He was only fourteen then.”
“A fourteen year old who had no business telling a kid who’d not even reached double digits yet that his Clan was going to be responsible for saving the world.” Aifric’s eyes glinted. “Saving nutty damsels in distress perhaps, but not the world.”
Gale gave him a rueful grin. He was right. Every Sidhe was given at least one Gift when they hit thirteen years old and made the journey to their Clan groves to receive their true names. Some were more useful than others. Precognition in particular was more shadow than substance. Futures were always shifting, nebulous clouds that could never be counted on. William Kincaid had foretold many things and few of them had come to pass. Precognition, like fine wine, tended to improve with age – and Kincaid was still very young by Sidhe standards.
Changing the subject, he focused instead on both their reasons for appearing at the main Sidhe stronghold. “So,” he said conversationally, “who do you think the next Steward will be?”
Aifric shot him a look. “Are you angling for my vote?”
Gale started. “What?” Where had that come from? “No way!”
“Why not?”
He gave his friend an incredulous look. “I’ve got better things to do than sit around here giving inane orders to Clans that don’t want to follow them.”
“You mean better things like helping the Clan-less and improving the lot of the lower level Sidhe?”
“They have a shitty time,” he said rather pointedly. “Someone has to do something. As soon as we’re done here, I’m heading up to Aberdeen.”
Aifric shook his head. “You’re wasting your time. They don’t want to be helped.”
“Yes they do.” He met Aifric’s eyes. “Come with me. You’ll see what things are really like for those less fortunate than ourselves.”
Aifric permitted himself a tiny smile. “There are other ways to change the world, my friend.”
***
The Cruaich was located on top of a densely wooded hill. When the sun shone, glinting off the sandstone parapets, it could be considered pretty. Right now, with the sky the colour of an old crone’s dirty toenails, it just looked depressing. Inside, however, was an entirely different matter. Every corner gleamed with opulence and wealth. The most ostentatious room of all was the room at the centre of the Cruaich – a vast six sided space used for the sole purpose of the council.
The assembled Sidhe took their seats around the vast oak table. There was an excited buzz that Gale in particular felt. Since taking over as Chieftain of the Adair Clan, he’d not had opportunity to participate in the formal voting in of a new Steward. It only happened every five years. He gazed round the room. One of these twenty-five Chieftains would become the de facto leader of the Sidhe for the next five years. Considering himself far too young to be a contender this time around, nonetheless it was an honour which Gale himself hoped to avoid regardless of what happened in the future. Concentrating on his own Clan – not to mention helping others such as the Ochterlochtys and the Clanless – took up enough of his time as it was.
The various Chieftains took advantage of the wait to renew old alliances. The Clan hierarchy was a complicated one. Approached by several other Clan leaders, Gale merely bowed his head and smiled. He had no time for the intricacies of Sidhe politics. He did watch the others with some interest, however. Calder, Haldane and Polwarth appeared to have put their previous scrap about land boundaries behind them and were seated together, conferring quietly. Blair and Jardine were frowning at each other, shoulders tense. Aifric, representing the Moncrieffes as their Chieftain, was in deep conversation with Alistair Kincaid.
Cal MacBrayne, the outgoing Steward, stood up. Many had been unimpressed at his leadership. The MacBraynes were definitely one of the smaller Clans and being elevated to such a high position had put other noses out of joint. There was some considerable relief that his time was now up. MacBrayne himself looked somewhat green around the gills. He was probably dreading being forced to return to the more mundane existence as leader of a small Clan whose main remit was basic utilities across the Highlands of Scotland. Sewage and pylons were no match for the heady excitement of the Cruaich.
“Thank you all for your kind attendance,” he intoned. “It has been a pleasure to serve the Sidhe over the past five years. We will now take nominations for the new Steward.”
There was a cough. “Before that happens,” said the Calder Chieftain, getting up awkwardly to his feet, “I wish to make a plea.” The assembly turned in his direction. “We all know that our little democracy has appeal and that it is all to the good that any Chieftain can rise to the position of Steward…”
There were several mutters. Gale only just managed to prevent himself from snorting. Some democracy when only twenty-five people were permitted to stand.
“…however,” Calder continued, his voice getting louder to ensure his point was made, “it seems only fitting that this time around, the Stewardship is passed to one of the older, more prestigious Clans.”
Gale’s heart sank. There were only four Clans he was referring to: Aifric’s Moncrieffe Clan, the Kincaids, the Darrochs and, unfortunately, the Adairs. Alistair Kincaid was already in his seventies and nobody would want to elect a geriatric to such an important position. The latest Darroch Chieftain, Dorienne, was a woman. This might be the 1980s but he didn’t think the majority of the Sidhe were ready to be told what to do by a female. Both himself and Aifric were young and inexperienced though. There were other more suitable Chieftains.
“Hear, hear!” Alistair Kincaid boomed. “It’s time we had some real leadership in this place.” Cal MacBrayne stiffened. “I myself do not wish the burden but I believe that Aifric Moncrieffe would be a fine choice.”
Gale spotted more than a few nods of agreement. He felt himself starting to relax. If Aifric really wanted the Stewardship, then he was welcome to it. For his own part, Aifric looked surprised but pleased. Good on him.
“And what about Gale Adair?”
Shit. He threw the Ochterlony Chieftain a desperate glance, willing him to see that he had no desire to be Steward. The man continued blithely on, however. “Chieftain Adair has not one, but two Gifts – psychometry and farsensing. Both of those are perfectly suited to the Stewardship. He has also taken time out from his own work to aid me in a matter of some importance. He didn’t delegate. He did it himself.”
And failed miserably in the effort, Gale thought in exasperation. All he’d found was a beguiling Sidhe girl with a heavy ax.
“He did also win the Games last year, asking for nothing more than a black rose as his reward.”
Aifric’s smile had disappeared. So had Alistair Kincaid’s.
Gale awkwardly got to his feet. “My success at the Games was a team effort,” he said, “as you all well know. I do not wish to be Steward.”
The response was mixed. Some looked relieved, others annoyed.
“If you’re the best person for the job, then it’s your duty to do it.”
Gale glowered. Out of options, he took a deep breath. “Aifric should be Steward.”
His friend’s smile returned.
“Well then,” MacBrayne demurred, “if there are no further nominations, then we should take it to the vote.”
***
“So who’s the next Steward?”
Gale’s strained face turned to his cousin’s. “Aifric Moncrieffe.”
Beric whistled. “Really? But he’s so young!”
“He’s not a babe in arms,” Gale said, annoyed. “In fact, he has a baby of his own on the way.”
“He’s only three years older than you.”
Choosing not to mention that he’d received twelve unwelcome votes to Aifric’s thirteen, Gale merely grunted. Spotting a familiar face in the waiting crowds out the front, he took advantage of the opportunity to make his escape.
“Coira!” he called.
She turned round, her back stiff and unyielding. When she saw who was seeking her out, her expression didn’t change. “Oh,” she said flatly, “it’s you.”
In the brightness of the day, she was even more becoming than she had been before. Her hair was glossy and her eyes the colour of melted chocolate. “Is that all you can say?” he asked. “I’d have thought you’d be more pleased to see me.”
“I’m thrilled.” She sounded anything but. Then she sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m being rude. I’ve not been getting much sleep lately.”
He smiled. “I’m not surprised with all your night-time activities.”
Something sharp flickered in her eyes. “What do you mean?”
He gave her a funny look. “Attacking innocent campers and searching for errant Fomori demons. What do you think I meant?”
She bit her lip. “Nothing.” She looked over at the other departing Chieftains. “So Moncrieffe is the new Steward?”
“And he’ll be a great one. We’re lucky to have him.”
She still didn’t smile. “Really.”
He cocked his head. “You don’t sound very sure.”
“It doesn’t really affect me,” she murmured. She glanced over his shoulder and frowned. “Would you like to go for a walk?”
Gale blinked. “Now?”
She grabbed his arm, linking it round hers. “There’s no time like the present.”
Surprised, albeit in a good way, Gale let her lead him away down the undulating path. Coira kept looking back as if nervous about who was behind her. Gale followed her gaze, registering the hulking shape of the Bull glaring after them.
“Your fiancé is back there,” he commented.
She was silent for a moment. “We’re no longer engaged.”
Gale did his best to remain expressionless. “Oh yes?”
“Yes.” She didn’t seem to want to elaborate further. Instead, she flicked him a look. “Anyway, how do you know my name? And who my ex-fiance is?”
He lifted up a shoulder. “I asked around. It’s not every day someone almost lops my head off with an ax.”
A faint red stained her cheeks. “Sorry about that. If I’d known you were Gale Adair, I would have left you in peace.”
“You know of me?”
For the first time, her soft mouth curved into a smile. “Don’t be coy,” she teased. “Everyone knows of you. I saw you at the Games. You were very heroic. Although I have to admit, I was quite far away during the final tournament so you it was hard to see much. With that pure white hair of yours, I thought you were much older.”
Gale grimaced. “It’s always been this colour. It’s not easy to stay camouflaged when you have this to deal with.”
“I like it.” Her eyes were pure and guileless.
Gale felt an unexpected ripple of pleasure. “I like your hair too.”
Coira laughed, her mood obviously lightening. “I’m not sure it would suit you.”
“Did you hear about the man who lost all his hair in the war?”
Her brow furrowed. “Huh?”
“He lost it in a hair raid.”
She stared at him. “That’s really not funny.”
He shrugged awkwardly. Epic fail. “What can I say? I like silly jokes.”
Coira pressed her lips together. “I think you should brush that habit off,” she replied, her face expressionless.
His eyes shot up and he realised there was amusement dancing in her eyes. They shared a smile and he felt himself relax.
“Speaking of hair,” Coira said, “there’s something you should see.”
Intrigued, Gale quirked up his eyebrows. She took his hand and tugged at it, pulling him along the path. The few people they passed stepped politely aside to let them past, respect for Gale and curiosity for Coira mingling in their gazes. Other than some hurried acknowledgments, they didn’t say anything however. The sun threw dappled shadows out in front of the pair and the fragrant summer air around them felt light. This beat sitting in a stuffy council session.
Leading him down to a quiet expanse of greenery, Coira pointed in the direction of a small copse of trees.
“There,” she said softly. “A down of hares. There are even some babies. They’ve been living here for years.”
Gale followed her finger, his eyes coming to rest on the furry family. “It’s like they’re a Clan all of their own.”
“Just with less in-fighting,” she commented with a wry smile, before turning to face him. Despite being at least a foot shorter than him, her eyes were level. Gale gaped. When he looked down and saw her feet hanging in the air, he started to laugh. “Levitation? That’s your Gift?”
She grinned at him. “Cool, huh?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “It kind of is.”
“It makes it a lot easier for me to do this,” she said impishly, leaning in to give him a lingering peck on the cheek. “Thank you for helping me make my escape. I didn’t want to talk to James.”
“James?”
“The Bull.” Her mouth downturned. “I should have twigged that something was up when I learnt that was his nickname.”
“Because he’s like a bull in a china shop?”
Coira laughed. “No. Because he’s hung like a bull and has his own harem to make use of that particular, um, attribute. I had the unfortunate joy of walking in on him last night. Him and three others.”
Gale finally got her meaning. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She gave him a meaningful look. “I was but now I’m starting to think it’s not such a bad thing after all.” She gave him another kiss. This time, however, it was on the lips. “I’ll see you around, Gale Adair.”
Next to nothing had happened. Two demure kisses, neither lasting more than a few seconds. The thrumming of Gale’s heart against his ribcage, however, was extraordinary. He held his fingers to his lips as he watched her lightly run off. Perhaps this was going to be a very good day after all. Unfortunately, it was no sooner than that thought had formed that he heard the high-pitched scream renting the air.
The scene that met Gale’s eyes when he sprinted back to the castle was one of utter chaos. The bloody shape of woman lay on the ground and a panicked cluster of people were staring upwards at the highest parapet. There, hanging by one hand and dangling a small child by the other was the unmistakable evil of a Fomori demon.
It didn’t make any sense. The magical border surrounding all the Clanlands was strongest around the Cruaich. By rights no creature, certainly not one of the Sidhe’s greatest ever enemies, should have been able to pass. And yet, even though he’d never seen a Fomori demon outside of artists’ renderings in old books, there was no mistaking the monster.
Aifric ran out of the main entrance, his face pale. The demon screeched with such a loud, grating noise that it seemed the entire castle’s foundations shook.
“How the hell did that thing get here?” Gale muttered.
Aifric didn’t respond. He seemed slack-jawed, frozen into inaction by the demon’s unexpected appearance. Several Sidhe formed into a small group, preparing to use their Gifts to attack. A moment later three bolts of fire flew upwards. Gale cursed aloud.
“Stop it!” he yelled. “It’ll drop the child!”
“It’s not Sidhe,” someone said, their meaning clear. “It’s a pixie kid belonging to one of the servants.”
Gale glared at the man. It didn’t make any bloody difference whether the babe was Sidhe or not. The demon had already killed one person. He was damned if he was going to let it kill anyone else.
Knowledge was often the greatest gift of all. Summoning up the power inside him, Gale threw out a probe, using his psychometry to learn what he could. Maybe it wasn’t a Fomori demon after all. Maybe it was just an illusion. There was no denying the dark shades of power that he gleaned from his Gift, however. There was something else there too. Blinking in horror, Gale took a step back.
“What is it?” Aifric whispered, almost afraid to dare to speak loudly in case the demon turned its fearful eyes onto him.
“Someone summoned it here. That’s why it got past the border. Who would do such a thing?”
Aifric didn’t answer. Gale balled up his fists, watching as the demon haphazardly swung the child’s limp body in the air.
“The best thing we can do is zap it from here,” the Bull grunted, appearing beside them. “Get rid of it once and for all.”
The man was despicable. He was prepared to sacrifice the innocent child just to save his own damned skin. Gritting his teeth, Gale twisted round and ran inside. He had to reach the demon and confront it face to face before anyone did anything stupid.
It wasn’t a direct route up to the parapets. There were many of these corridors and staircases which Gale didn’t know particularly well at all. He had to rely on faint memories of exploring the outer reaches of the Cruaich as a child, when he’d come here with his own father. He took the steps three at a time, leaping up with his heart pounding and his veins icy cold. He shot down one dark corridor and found the next looping staircase, then sprinted upwards again. When he got to the one of the higher floors, however, he found himself confronted with two possible avenues. Cursing to himself, he stared at both narrow staircases. One led up to the parapet where the demon was. The other would lead further away. He had to make the right decision.
Something barreled past him at lightning speed. He blinked, only just registering Coira’s slight shape.
“Stop!” he yelled, as she disappeared into the stair well in the southern side. She ignored him and kept going. He ran after her.
“It’s here for me,” she flung out over her shoulder.
“You don’t know that!” he shouted, catching up to her.
“I do. It’s been tracking me. I told you that.”
He shook his head. It didn’t make any sense. A Fomori demon wouldn’t give a crap about someone like Coira. One of the Chieftains, perhaps. Cal MacBrayne certainly. Aifric maybe. But a young lower level Sidhe?
“But…”
“Trust me,” she said through gritted teeth, bursting out the door and onto the castle roof. “I don’t know why it wants me but this is my fault. It’s here because of me.”
The demon was cackling loudly. From this vantage point, all Gale could see was its long nailed hand curling round the stone edge.
“Hey!” Coira yelled. “Come on then! It’s me you really want!” The wind whipped round her, causing her hair to fly up in all directions.
The demon fell silent, then lifted itself up, a pair of malevolent red eyes fixing on her. It licked its lips slowly and swung over the edge to face her.
It cocked its head and examined her as if she were a fly under a microscope. It was like something out of Gale’s worst nightmares: grey, pallid skin and naked from head to toe, its sinewy muscles spoke of power – and terror. One hand still held the baby, a wide eyed blue haired boy who seemed to sense the danger and had fallen silent. The Fomori’s other hand reached up its misshapen skull and stroked the few long black hairs plastered there.
“Child,” it hissed.
Gale leapt in front of Coira and the demon spat, fire reflected in its blood red eyes. It swept a terrible glance over him, and he found himself unable to prevent a shudder.
“Get out of here, Coira,” he said through gritted teeth.
The demon’s lips drew back over its mouth, revealing sharp yellow teeth. With unmitigated horror, Gale realised it was smiling.
“You.”
The thought that the demon somehow knew him began to crystallise. The hand holding the child lifted into the air and Gale knew it was about to dash its skull against the stone slabs at their feet. Without thinking, he sprang forward.
“No!”
His own hands grabbed the demon’s throat. “Let the baby go.”
The demon’s eyes bulged. It was obviously in pain. It raised its hand higher. It didn’t care that Gale was ostensibly squeezing the life out of it. It simply jerked its head back once, then slammed it forward into the bridge of his nose. Gale couldn’t help himself. He let go of his grip and fell backwards.
The demon grinned once more. It began to back away. With a sickening nausea, Gale tried to get back to his feet. Coira flew past him, lunging for the baby. Tauntingly, the demon swiped its hand away, like some dark bullfighter holding a cape.
It opened its mouth once more. “Die.”
There was a rush of blood in Gale’s ears. The wind whipping around seemed to die away. Both the baby and Coira faded into the background. All he could hear was the thumping of his own heart. There was a pressure building inside his chest like nothing he’d ever felt before. He tried to breathe but he didn’t seem able to gulp the air to get in any oxygen to fill his lungs. As the demon smirked, Gale flicked out one fist. He was metres away from the demon. It would never reach. But the power inside him had to come out some way. He felt an explosion of light and his ribcage expanded with sudden pain. There was one sharp howl then both the demon and Gale collapsed.
His eyelids flickering against the bright sunshine, he tried to move his limbs. A strange squawling sound filled the air. He tried to focus, but his vision was blurry. Then a cool hand covered his forehead.
“What did you do, Gale?” Coira whispered. “The demon’s dead and you didn’t even touch it.”
He blinked. The infant was in her arms, crying lustily. He tried to speak but no words came out. Raising his head, he looked over. Where the Fomori demon ahd been standing, there was now nothing other than a pile of dark slimy goo. “I don’t understand,” he croaked. He flexed his fingers. They felt strange and tingly.
“I do,” said a grim voice from behind. It was Aifric. “You’ve got three gifts. Not one. Not even two. Who’d have thought it?”
Coira frowned. “What do you mean?”
“He soul punched the demon. Reached inside its heart and ripped out its very essence with the power of his mind. No-one’s done that in centuries. You , my friend, have the ability to kill at will.”
Gale’s head sank back down again. He felt hot and feverish. As long as Coira, the baby and everyone else at the Cruaich were safe, it didn’t really matter.
1987
Dusty from the road, Gale flung off his coat and went in search of his wife. He’d barely gone three steps, however, when she appeared in the doorway. Her features were wan and heavy shadows circled her eyes. There was no denying the delight in her expression, however.
“You’re home!”
He pulled her into his arms, taking care not to squeeze too hard. “I am. I’ve missed you.” He kissed her upturned mouth. “How are things? How’s the baby?”
Coira placed a hand on her protruding stomach. “Restless,” she admitted. “I’ll be more than glad when she finally deigns to make an appearance. Our girl is stubborn.”
“You’re still sure it’s a girl?” he teased, his eyes dancing.
She nodded. “You’re not disappointed? You’d rather have a son?”
“Are you kidding? She’ll be stronger than any boy could ever be. But if any boy dares to come near her…”
Coira laughed. “God forbid. Our poor daughter.”
“I just want the man who ends up with her to be worthy of her, that’s all.”
“She’ll be a nun.”
He kissed her forehead, covering her hand with his and feeling his daughter kick. “She’ll be whatever she wants to be.”
“We still need to think of a name.”
He grinned. “Maybe she’ll tell us herself what she wants to be called.”
“Faobhar,” she whispered, touching his rough cheek and using his true name.
Gale’s eyes softened. “Binneas,” he said back to her.
They shared a look of mutual trust and love. Few Sidhe every gave away their true names, the ones they received along with their Sidhe Gifts when they were thirteen years old. Gale and Coira were the exception rather than the rule.
“Any problems?” he asked. “I’ve been away for longer than I intended.”
Coira smiled. “Everything’s fine. Lily’s been a great help.”
“Really?”
“She’s a lot saner than other Sidhe I know.” Lily hailed from the MacQuarrie Clan. They were known for having a touch of the moon about them. Some were, of course, more stable than others.
“There are a lot of crazies out there,” Gale agreed. “Fortunately, the only thing I’m crazy about is you.”
They kissed again.
There was an awkward cough. Gale glanced up, spotting several members of his household standing to one side.
‘We’ve just received word, Chieftain. The Steward is on his way. He’ll be here by nightfall.”
Gale tensed. “Any idea why he’s gracing us with his presence?”
“I think he’s still worried about the Veil.”
Coira drew back. “There’s not been a single Fomori demon since…”
He reached out and squeezed her hand. “And there won’t be another one. Aifric is just being cautious. It’s a good thing.”
***
Aifric arrived with considerably less fanfare than Gale had been expecting. His entourage numbered no more than six. It was good to see that his old friend hadn’t let the Stewardship go to his head. As soon as he stepped across the threshold, they clasped each other’s hands in friendly greeting.
“You’re honouring us with your visit,” Gale said.
Aifric gave him a dismissive wave. “One of my best friends is about to become a father! How could I not come?” He handed over a beautifully wrapped present. “Don’t open it just yet,” he said with a wink. “Not until the baby comes.”
Gale smiled and passed it over to a hovering Clan member. “I won’t,” he promised.
“Things are looking good around here,” Aifric said, gazing around the high walls of the Adair castle. “You’ve done a lot of work.”
“And spent a lot of money.” Gale gestured at the imposing granite. “But it’s worth it. I need to make sure my family are safe. It would take an army to breach these walls and the magical barrier I have in place. Speaking of which, how’s your family doing? How’s your son with the daft name?”
A tinge of pride crossed Aifric’s face. “Byron. And it’s not a silly name. It has a fine lineage.”
Gale snorted. “If you say so.”
They grinned at each other. “Byron’s already almost four years old. He has the entire Clan running after him. He’ll be breaking hearts all over the Highlands by the time he’s a teenager. He takes after his mother in that at least. ”
“And how is Mhairi?”
Aifric’s eyes turned dark. “Not well,” he admitted. “The sickness is getting worse.”
Gale touched his arm. “I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can do…”
He nodded. “I’ll let you know. Anyway,” he boomed, turning round, “what does it take to get a drink around here?”
“Whisky do you?”
“Perfect.”
The Adair castle was busy. With winter fast approaching – all signs that it was going to be long and bitter – the entire Clan had retreated behind the walls. Rather than the petulant grumblings of a large group of people confined to a small space, however, everyone seemed happy.
“Things are going well for you,” Aifric commented, after passing yet another beaming Sidhe.
“I’m a lucky guy.” Gale motioned into a small room set into the side. “Come on. My study’s in here. We’ll get some peace and quiet. Your men can get some food in the kitchens. Beric will show them the way.”
Parting company from the others, Gale and Aifric wandered into the small book-lined room and settled onto an old sofa, covered in cracked red leather.
“I’m surprised you’ve not been back to the Cruaich for a while,” Aifric commented, once he had his whisky in hand.
Gale gave him a rueful glance. “It’s hard work there. I never get a moment to myself.”
“Well, if you will go around saving helpless infants from evil demons, you can’t expect anything else.”
He rolled his eyes. “Anyone would have done the same.”
Aifric’s response was quiet. “Almost everyone was at the Cruaich that day. You were the only one who did anything.”
“Coira did as much as I did.”
“She’s Adair now too. You’re one and the same. It must be nice to be treated like a hero everywhere you go.”
Gale laughed. “Said the Steward. You’re the leader of all the Sidhe. You must get some perks.”
“It’s a lot more complicated than it looks,” Aifric sighed, running a hand through his hair. “The frustrating thing is that by the time my five years are up, I’ll only just be getting the hang of things.” He put his glass down. “That’s why I’m here actually.”
Gale raised an eyebrow. “Oh yes?”
“I’m going to put forward a motion to extend the Steward’s term. It makes logical sense. I’ve only got another twelve months and then someone else is going to take over. There are still so many things that need to be taken care of.”
“Why can’t the next Steward do that?” Gale asked mildly.
“Because they’ll spend the first three years learning the ropes and working the angles. We’ll go backwards about ten steps.” He leaned forward. “You know, I’ve been taking your suggestions about doing more for the Clan-less very seriously.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. I’m not sure that staying Steward for longer is the best course of action, however. There’s a term limit for a reason.”
Aifric frowned. “You know that your name will be top of the list for next time. Hell, you were almost voted in last time. Become Steward and you’ll spend all your time at the Cruaich instead of here with Coira. You’ll be a stranger to your own son.”
“Actually, I’m told the baby will be a girl. It doesn’t matter though. I won’t accept the title. I have no inclination in that direction.”
“You might not have a choice, Gale. Extending my term is going to do you a favour.”
“But it’ll have repercussions for everyone else too. Not just now but in the future.” Gale shook his head. “I’m sorry. I realise you came here seeking my support but I can’t give it. Not for this.”
For a moment, Aifric’s face was blank. Then he broke out into a smile. “You’re just too damned principled for your own good. When you’re seated on the Cruaich throne, I’ll remind of you that.”
Gale grinned. “I’ll step down as Chieftain of the Adair Clan before that happens.” He drained his glass.
Changing the subject, Aifric regarded him curiously. “Your Gifts,” he said slowly. “Have you used them lately?”
“You’re asking about one Gift in particular, aren’t you? The soul punching.”
Aifric nodded.
“No. And I have no plans to use it. I’m not even sure I know how to. Most of the first time was a blur anyway.”
“It’s a lot of power.”
“A lot of destructive power. I already have everything I could possibly want. I don’t need anything else.”
Aifric picked his glass back up again and raised it in the air. “To you.”
“To us.” He eyed the lack of contents. “I’m going to need more whisky.”
***
Aifric and his merry band departed the next day. With a pounding head, Gale waved them off. Whisky was no longer his friend. Ten years ago, perhaps. Even five years ago. Now he was just getting too damned old.
“You’re looking a bit green around the gills there,” Coira teased.
He curved an arm round her waist. “I’m never drinking again. I might have lie down and sleep it off.”
Coira touched her belly. “Do that. Because I have a feeling it’s going to be a long day.”
Gale’s eyes went wide. “It’s time.”
“Not quite yet but I think she’s getting ready to make her move. And,” she added with a dancing glint, “Lily gave me some noster root yesterday. It’s meant to help things along. She’s gone out this morning to get more, just in case.” She leaned her head against his shoulder.
“Are you afraid?”
“Of the pain? No.” She gnawed on her lip. “I’m afraid for her though.”
“Our daughter?”
“It’s a scary world we’re bringing her into.”
Gale smiled. “She’s an Adair. She’ll do fine.”
A few hours later, when he heard the first yell, he assumed that Coira had been right and her labour was beginning. The entire Clan would be galvanised into action. It was a long time since an Adair heir had been born. When there was a second scream filled with numbing terror, however, he knew that something was heartbreakingly wrong.
He sprang off the bed and ran, following the noise. He made it to the courtyard just in time to see Coira crumple. Blood blossomed at her chest and the shaft of an arrow was embedded at its centre. An inarticulate cry ripped from his throat. He rushed to her side, gathering her up in his arms. What the hell had just happened? He pulled apart her blouse and stared at the wound.
“Who did this, Coira?” He pressed down hard and tried to stem the blood. Too afraid to pull the arrow out and cause more damage, he fumbled. Coira moaned. “Hang on,” he said desperately, “just hang on.”
There was no-one else in sight. The entire place was deserted. Hours ago, people had teemed everywhere. Now it was like a ghost town.
“Help!” Gale shouted. “Help us!”
No-one came.
Coira moaned again. “Save her,” she gasped. “Save our daughter.”
His throat closed up. He couldn’t speak. Her hand, slick with blood, reached up and grabbed onto his.
“Gale, you have to do this. We both know I’m not going to make it. Just save her. Look after her. She’s what counts now.”
He swallowed hard. “No,” he whispered. “You’re going to be alright. I’m not going to let you leave me.”
Her body jerked, spasming as another wave of pain crashed through her. Her eyes rolled back in her head. Tears blurred his vision. Why was he all alone? It didn’t make any sense. He leaned down and listened for a heartbeat. It was faint – and failing. The pulse at Coira’s throat fluttered and went still. Gale froze.
Move, a voice inside his head urged. Move now.
He forced himself to his feet, running to the side and finding his knife. There was no time left. Coira was gone but he could still save their daughter. He could still do what she’d asked of him. Whether her attackers were still here or not, he had to act.
It was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. He gagged at the first incision. He was no doctor and the cut was ragged and deep. He forced himself to breathe and tried again, taking more care. There was no conscious thought now. It was as if something else had taken over his body and possessed him. When he finally pulled his daughter from the body of his dead wife, there was almost nothing of the man called Gale left.
“There he is.”
A heartbeat later pain ripped into his back. He fell backwards, the baby girl still clutched to his chest. As Gale Adair began to breathe his last few breaths, his daughter breathed her first.
“I told you he’d go looking for her. Tell the Fomori that their present worked. It was better than we could have hoped. They don’t need to worry about what lies in Gale Adair’s future. Not any more. The Adairs are no more.”
“They’ll be pleased. The poison was fast. It’s a shame those two didn’t have breakfast though. It would have gone easier on them if they had.”
“Hangovers and pregnant women. Both are equally unpredictable.”
The voices swirled around Gale. They sounded as if they were coming from very far away. He struggled to hang on to each one. They were familiar but his brain was too fuzzy to focus. The pain had gone now but he felt very, very cold.
“What do we do with the child?”
“Strangle it.”
Silence thudded through the courtyard. “You do it then.”
There was a curse. “Give her to me.”
The bundle on Gale’s chest was lifted. She cried, seeking out warmth. Gale tried to croak. He willed his hand to rise up but every limb felt leaden and heavy. If he could just bring his final Gift back to the fore again then at least he’d have his revenge. There wasn’t enough energy left inside him though. He had nothing left to give.
“We could keep her alive. As leverage. We’ll need something to keep the damn Fomori in check from now on.”
“If she lives then so does Clan Adair.”
“She’s just a girl. Besides, we can tell her whatever we want and she’ll believe it. Gale Adair was more powerful than any other Sidhe, living or dead. He possessed three Gifts, the last of which was soul punching.”
The second voice sounded pleased. “He killed his own Clan. Every single last one of them. He thought he could be a hero but in the end he was nothing more than a genocidal maniac.”
“Went crazy.”
There was a pause. Gale shuddered.
“Do you think people will believe it?”
“History belongs to the winners. In thirty years no-one will remember Gale Adair. Salt the ground and destroy all the evidence. Give the baby to the Bull. She’ll be alive but he won’t give a shit about her. Four years since Coira Ochterlony dumped him and he’s still sore about it. We can make up any story we want.”
Gale stared up at the sky. It was very dark. He wanted to say something. He wanted to scream bloody vengeance. His jaw worked but it all just too much. Seconds later everything went dark.