Tales of the Executioners, Volume One

Tales of the Executioners

Volume 1

A collection of short stories

By Joleene Naylor

http://www.joleenenaylor.com

Joleene@joleenenaylor.com

First Smashwords Edition, 2018

Verchiel: Never Ending Question first edition published as Verchiel in Strange Portals Anthology, 2014. Published in 2015 as Tales of the Executioners: Verchiel. Published as Verchiel: Never Ending Question in Nightly Bites Anthology Vol 1 2017. Second expanded edition copyright 2018.

Kateesha: Call of Blood Part 2 first published as Kateesha in Vampire Morsels: Short Story Collection 2012. Published as Kateesha (Vampire Morsels) in 2015. Kateesha: Call of Blood Part 1 and Part 2 expanded edition copyright 2018

Beldren: What We Deserve first edition published 2015 in When the Lights Go Out Anthology as Beldren. Published 2016 as Tales of the Executioners: Beldren. Published as Beldren: What We Deserve 2017. Second edition copyright 2018.

Byrn: At Christmas first published as Byrn 2015. Published as Tales of the Executioners: Byrn 2016. Published as Byrn: At Christmas 2017. Second expanded edition copyright 2018

Ark: Echo from the Past first published 2014 as Tales of the Executioners: Ark. Published as Ark: Echo from the Past 2017. Second edition copyright 2018

Daniel: Black Luck first edition 2017. Second edition 2018

Dismas: Prayers of the Damned first edition 2017. Second edition 2018.

Jamie: The Blood of Betrayal first and second editions 2018

Griselda: Pack of Wolves first and second editions 2018

Jorick: Price of Freedom first and second editions 2018

Krill: Dreadful Note of Preparation first and second edition 2018

Mary: Chasing a Killer first and second editions 2018

Migina: Just a Human first and second editions 2018

Reymen: On Pain of Punishment first edition 2018

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Interior images by Joleene Naylor & Zanatlija

Cover image courtesy of breaker213 & Canstockphoto

Cover by Joleene Naylor

Ramblings from the Darkness at http://www.joleenenaylor.com

You never know what you’ll find in the shadows…..

Check out Zanatlija’s awesome font Old Retro Labels

Other books by Joleene Naylor:

Amaranthine:

0: Brothers of Darkness

1: Shades of Gray

2: Legacy of Ghosts

3: Ties of Blood

4: Ashes of Deceit

5: Heart of the Raven

6: Children of Shadows

7. Clash of Legends

8. Masque of the Vampire

9: Goddess of Night

Also:

Vampire Morsels Collection: 17 Short Stories

Tales of the Executioners Volume 1: Short Story Collection

Tales of the Executioners Volume 2: Short Story Collection

Heart of the Raven Mini Prologue Collection

Tales from the Island: Six Short Stories

Thirteen Guests: A Masque of the Vampire companion

Road to Darkness: A short story companion to Brothers of Darkness

Honeymoon Havoc: A short story

A Different Time: A short story

Deal with the Devil: Jorick’s origin story

COMING SOON:

Micah’s road trip (not the final title)

Tales from the Executioners Volume One

Executioner is the name given to the vampires’ elite enforcers; those who uphold the Laws and administer punishment. In Volume One, meet some of those enforcers, learn their origin stories, feel their heartbreaks, their joys, travel with them on assignments, and see how The Guild came to be – but always, always, be wary of their master, Malick.

Contains expanded versions of some stories, available only in the collection, as well as the exclusive stories Reymen: On Pain of Punishment, Kateesha: Call of Blood, and Clara: Pretty Pet. Also includes the Executioner Timeline Part 1 to help keep everything straight.

Thanks to Bonnie Mutchler and Chris Harris for their beta editing on the collection. Thank you to Michele Taylor and Sherry Bohach for their eagle eyes.

Thanks to Bonnie Mutchler for all her research for Jamie’s story. I know it was a labor of love.

Thanks also to Caitlin Coppola, Brian Keith Ellis, Michael Pilgrim, Dawn Muss, Darrell Shepherd, Amber Greise, David Hipp, & Elaine E. Chaix for donating names to the various stories.

Also thanks to my awesome patrons on Patreon: Caitlin Coppola, Jennifer Haggerman, Denise Royal, and Barbara G. Tarn.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Intro: What is an Executioner?

Jamie: Blood of Betrayal

Beldren: What We Deserve

Verchiel: never-Ending Question

Byrn: At Christmas

Clara: Pretty Pet

Daniel: Black Luck

Reymen: On Pain of Punishment

Kateesha: Call of Blood

Jorick: The Price of Freedom

Krill: Dreadful Note of Preparation

Dismas: Prayers of the Damned

Mary: Chasing a Killer

Griselda: Pack of Wolves

Ark: Echo from the Past

Migina: Just a Human

Executioner Timeline

About the Author

Connect with the Author

What is an Executioner?

The Executioners are the vampire’s equivalent of special police. They go on assignments that The Guild (the United States and Canada’s vampire government) send them on, and they don’t have a reputation for being very nice. It’s a reputation that’s often well deserved.

This is a collection of stories about those Executioners. In some stories, they’ve already been promoted to Executioner rank,; in others, they’re still guards, working for the citadel, and, in a few, they haven’t even thought about joining The Guild yet.

Though the stories stand on their own, together they weave a narrative about the beginning of The Guild in the United States, the evolution of it as the immortal population grew, and the Executioners that helped to shape it.

You can read more about Jorick, Jamie, Verchiel, and many others in the Amaranthine series and in the Vampire Morsels Short Story Collection. And, of course, you’ll find the rest of the Executioner narrative in Tales of the Executioners, Volume Two.

Confused about the dates? You can check out the Executioner Timeline Part 1 in the back of this book as a handy reference.

Jamie: Blood of Betrayal

(This story begins in Scotland in 1615.)

There was thirst. Burning, like a flame in Jamie’s throat. He swallowed, but it only made it worse.

When he became accustomed to it, to the ache, he reached beyond, coming to terms with himself, his surroundings. He lay on his back, warm, not uncomfortable. There was no immediate pain, aside from his dry throat.

He opened his eyes slowly. The bright room flickered in and out of focus, then sharpened into a scene too clear to be real. Was he dreaming?

The room looked real; and just as he remembered. The large bed, the fireplace, the pitcher near the bed, the familiar lamp, his wife’s cloak draped over a low stool. It was his bedroom at home, in the family castle, but…but how had he come to be there? And why was everything so bright?

He closed his eyes against it and the memories came back, edged in red, distorted, as if they were from long ago. Things had gone badly at Dunbar. They’d have been fine if they’d only waited, but the officers…no, they hadn’t been happy to sit. They’d ordered the attack. After two days, thousands lay dead, and many times that number were captured by Cromwell’s army.

Jamie’s hand moved unconsciously to his side, where he’d been wounded. Phantom pain throbbed as he pictured the ragged, maggot-edged wound. Was that last night? Earlier today? He remembered that he’d cowered in a ditch and tried to redress the mess with a torn tunic, stolen from a washing line. Too sick to go further, he spent the night there, shivering with fever. Every sound became an imagined pursuer, an enemy sent to sweep up the last of the rebels. No. The sun had risen. He remembered the warmth on his fingertips, the song of the birds as he forced himself to climb out, to follow the winding road toward his father’s lands. He was so close to home…so close to Margaret.

Her image moved to the forefront of his thoughts, looking as she’d been when he last saw her. Long red hair curled around her shoulders, green eyes looked up at him, filled half with love, half with sadness.

She’d pressed a lock of hair into his hand, tied with a soft ribbon. Ye will return, my love. Walk unafraid on yer journey and ken my heart goes with ye.

Aye, I will, and ye will be waitin’ ta greet me when I do.

She’d smiled, even as a tear slipped down her cheek. Aye, that I will. A greeting you won’t soon forget.

Jamie opened his eyes on the over-bright room again. Though he didn’t remember the arrival, he’d returned, just as she said he would, just as he’d promised her. What came next, he didn’t know. He’d planned to try again to start a family, to settle down victorious, but with the loss of the battle…he might need to go back.

She’ll understand.

He only needed to see her, try to explain it. She always understood, and, even when she didn’t, she pretended to. They’d known one another since they were children. She’d followed him like a shadow with wild red hair and a perpetually dirty face. As they’d grown, her wild hair was tamed, and the dirt disappeared from her cheeks. He remembered the night he’d noticed her. Yes, he’d seen her a thousand times, a million times, but he’d seen her as a nuisance, as a child. That night, the light from the bonfire playing on her milky skin, he’d seen her as something more.

Their courtship was brief and their union no surprise to anyone but him, as if the clan had long seen it coming. Even she’d taken it for granted.

I knew when we were bairns that I would be yer wife one day, she’d said more than once. I always knew. Didn’t ye?

He was smart enough to lie, to say he’d always planned it, though mayhap it wasn’t as much a lie as he thought. He’d never seriously considered another lass, never thought about it at all if he could help it. There were clan wars to worry about, then the bloody English. Always something to keep him and his father busy. Maybe, under all that, he’d secretly known that his fiery haired shadow was destined to be there forever.

Until our hair turns white, our eyesight fails, and all our little bairns have babes of their own.

The memory of her words made him smile, and brought a new urgency to see her; kiss her, hold her and, once he’d healed…

He sat up slowly, hand still at his side, body tensed for pain. None came. His quizzical eyes moved to the site of the injury as he pulled back the blanket. He found no bandage or wrapping, only a crooked scar.

A scar? How long had he been abed? For it to have healed fully, it must have been weeks. From the look of the scar, the smoothness, perhaps months. Months abed? How could such a thing be?

No wonder I’m so thirsty.

He grabbed the bedside pitcher, ready to drink whatever was inside, but it was empty. Aggravated, he set it back with too much force. Shards dropped around the night table, just as the door opened.

I didn’t mean- he broke off at the sight of Rechert, his father’s servant. The man’s wide eyes moved from the broken pitcher, to Jamie’s face, then to the floor.

Ye are awake, sir.

Aye, that I am. And thirsty. Jamie rubbed his throat. What must a man do ta get a drink here? Though it was meant as a joke, he saw Rechert tense. What is it? Is something amiss?

The man didn’t look up, only murmured, Nay.

His demeanor didn’t match his answer, and Jamie was instantly on guard. Was it because he’d been abed so long? What day is it?

’Tis the sixteenth of September, sir.

The sixteenth? How could that be? He’d been wounded only thirteen days ago? Unless…Had he been sick that long? What is the year?

1650, sir.

Jamie ran a hand through his hair, fighting confusion. It was the same year, the same month, so how could he have healed so quickly?

Shall I fetch the Laird?

Jamie closed his eyes and nodded. Aye. Mayhap Da can explain this. How could it be possible?

Rechert cleared his throat. I meant Sir Androu.

Laird Sir Androu? Jamie bit back a snort of contempt. Ever afraid to make waves, it was no surprise that Rechert would cater to Androu’s need for a title, even if his brother-in-law did not legally possess it.

Nay. Of all the men in the world, I’d rather see Cromwell than Androu just now. I can imagine his amusement at the state I’m in. Wounded, helpless – or rather mysteriously not wounded. Androu would seize on Jamie’s confusion, lord it over him. His cold gray eyes would shine, and his thin lips would twist in that smug smirk…why Jamie’s sister had fallen in love with him was a mystery. Even more so that she’d married him. That he had married her was no surprise, though. Jamie knew well that Androu hoped to find a way to inherit the lands and title. He still remembered the joke Androu had made on their wedding night.

One step closer ta being Laird, aren’t I? He’d chuckled.

Jamie hadn’t found it so funny. Nay. Ye’d need first ta get rid of Father, then of me, and I dinnae expect ye’d survive the attempt.

And he wouldn’t, either.

Rechert took an uncomfortable step back. Shall I get her ladyship, then?

Ladyship? Jamie’s ma was long in the grave…unless he meant Margaret. Aye, yes. Fetch me wife. He tried to struggle through a creeping, feeling of unease to add jovially, And a drink. My throat burns.

The man didn’t move, only looked stricken.

Did ye hear me, man? Bring Margaret and a drink. Rechert still didn’t move, so Jamie snapped, Have ye gone deaf?

When Rechert flinched, Jamie regretted his tone. Rechert had been with the family since he was a child. I’m sorry. I dinnae mean ta be so cross. I just – this blasted thirst…I just need ta see Margaret and get a drink before I’m consumed. He coughed, like gargling sand. A drink, he muttered, tossing the blanket aside, ready to stand and find his own liquid. Any liquid.

She’s dead, sir.

Jamie froze, one foot on the floor. What do ye say? Who is dead?

Rechert flinched again. Yer wife, sir. Margaret.

The too-bright, over-sharp world contracted, pressing in on Jamie with a suffocating pressure that stole his breath. Dead. Margaret. Dead. But…But…

What do ye say?

He heard his own voice, a half-wild shout, but felt no connection to it. Rechert backed toward the door. I’ll fetch her ladyship.

And then he was gone. Jamie stared at the blank space Rechert had been in, conscious only of the burning in his throat, and the tearing agony in his chest. Rechert must be mistaken. The man was old, addled.

He conjured Margaret again in his memory, a thousand moments pressed together. He saw her laughing in the sunlight, lying on the bed on their wedding night, her fiery hair spread around her flushed face. Saw her holding their daughter, hair damp from the sweat of childbirth, then again, months later, eyes wet with the tears of a mother burying her child. He saw her riding her horse, bundled in her cloak, as snowflakes drifted beneath the darkened sky.

There, in the frozen moments, he could smell her, hear her voice playing through his memory. Ye ken I love, thee, Jamie, as the songbirds love the dawn.

Aye, as I love you.

The door opened. Jamie shook himself back to his bedchambers, to see his sister enter. Her dark tresses were pulled back and her face was pallid, leaving her soft brown eyes like two deep pools –pools that glimmered with pity.

Pity for him. Pity for his loss. Pity for the wife who was no more.

Jamie, she whispered as she drew near the bed. She had a fever-

The roar sounded foreign to his ears, even as Caitrin leapt back from his fury. Without thought he grabbed the night table and flung it against the wall. Followed by the lamp, the jewelry box, even the sideboard. He raged as he grabbed everything in reach, dashing it against the cold stone walls while he screamed. Then, among the wreckage, he saw the glint of gold.

Her locket.

With a moan he dropped to the floor, clutching the necklace. He squeezed his eyes closed, battling the tears, the black agony that threatened to swallow him, fighting that ever-present, still screaming, thirst.

Jamie, Caitrin’s voice was soft, and the touch to his shoulder gentle. Peace, Jamie. She rests, safe in the bosom of the Lord. She-

He refused to look, refused to see that pity again. How? he croaked, his voice heavy with grief. How did it come ta pass?

A fever, Jamie. She seemed better, then, in the night, she slipped away. She called fer ye. She…

Jamie tensed and squeezed his eyes tighter, as though he could blot reality away if he couldn’t see it.

…She didn’t blame ye, Jamie, fer not bein’ here. When she was lucid, she…she said as much, said she knew how important the cause was ta ye, ta…ta all of us, she knew ye were fighting’ fer yer future. She didn’t…She tried ta hold on fer ye, but the fever…we thought she was better, thought she was safe…

Jamie held up a hand to silence her. He couldn’t hear any more, not now. Not ever.

Ever.

Forever.

To face a world, a life without Margaret in it…

Forever.

He buried his face in his hands and bit back a cry. As he’d crawled home, bleeding, sick, desperate, his only prayer had been to let him make it home, let him see Margaret again, to hold her, to bury his face in her hair and…

…and drink….

No, not drink, not…

…not…

The thought flitted away as a voice said, My lady-

Jamie looked up through teary eyes to see Rechert returned. His vision throbbed, and the scent of dinner rolled through the room; roast suckling, apples, pork pie, and a thousand other delights. His body moved on its own, knocking the servant to the wall, pinning him, despite his struggles, then biting; sharp, quick. The feel of flesh between his teeth, the rush of blood, the relief as the thirst was quenched, as the fire dissipated.

But it does nothing for the pain.

Suddenly, the fount was ripped away. Jamie landed on the bed, his head swirling. He blinked to see his sister, one hand over her nose and mouth, the other pushing Rechert out the door. Jamie struggled up to his feet, but Caitrin knocked him back again.

Hold, brother. Yer meal will come ta ye.

Meal. As his heartbeat slowed, and his breathing evened, Jamie began to realize what had happened; what he’d done. He touched his lips and brought back fingers red with blood. Rechert’s blood. As if the discovery wasn’t gruesome enough, a second touch discovered something wrong with his teeth. His canines were longer, sharper, like an animal’s.

In the name of God, what-

Caitrin took his shoulders. Peace, Jamie. All things will be explained in time. Eagan will tell-

Jamie jerked free, looking from his bloody hand to her. Who is Eagan? I ken not the name.

She hesitated, then stepped back and clasped her hands. He is our master.

Master? What do ye mean? Like a laird? Or do ye mean a master ta a slave? What does Father say ta such things?

Her fingers convulsed; tightening, loosening, tightening. ’Tis not quite either of those. Ye should rest now. Yer’ve had some mighty revelations thrown at ye, and have only just recovered from a frightful state. Take the night ta mourn Margaret and tomorrow-

Jamie swept to his feet, his voice heavy with the threat of storm. No, lass. I won’t rest and mourn ‘til ye have explained this ta me! He waved the bloody hand. I bit the man, Caitrin. I bit him and I drank his blood, like a demon! At the word, a horrible idea began to form. Is that it? Am I a demon now? Is this hell? Is that how I was able ta heal so quickly? Tell me!

With each word he’d stepped forward, and Caitrin had retreated, until she was pressed against the wall. Aye, aye, I’ll try ta explain it ta ye, but ken ye full well that ye’d be better ta wait fer Eagan.

Satisfied, Jamie gave her some room and waited as she tugged her gown straight. Ta answer who Eagan is, be better ta explain what ye are now – what I am now, and Androu, too. We are… we are like the baobhan sith but-

The baobhan sith? How can that be? They are women all, and fairy kind.

Yes, I said like, but not like. As they do, we drink blood, but we do not need ta scratch and claw ta get at it, instead we have our teeth ta bite, as the pine marten do. And we are not only women, but men as well. Like them, though, we must avoid the sunlight, and we will remain young forever.

Jamie’s head swam at such notions. How could this come ta pass? How could we be cursed into such creatures? And what of Da? Has he been made one as well?

Nay, not father. As ta how, ‘twas Eagan who did the deed. He came ta us as one of them, already a creature of fae and darkness, and said that he could make us as he is. How can one refuse such an offer, in times like these? Androu and I accepted. Then ye returned, sick with fever and little chance ta survive the night. I marked how Eagan did it, he emptied us of our blood first, then gave us his, and so I did the same ta ye. Now ye are a creature of fae and darkness too.

And this Eagan? Where did he come from?

He came as a traveler in the night, seeking shelter. I dinnae think he meant ta make us as himself then, only meant ta stay and sleep in safety, but then his mind changed. Now, he is our master, because he is the one who changed us, and he is yours as well, because I still belong ta him, so all I change belong ta him.

Jamie cradled his head in his hand. It seemed fantastic, unreal. That he believed in the fae and magic, the secret things that lived in the earth and the shadows, was not in question, for he did. But to believe in them and believe in them was something different. This tale was something wild, some strange fancy. Or would be if not for the proof he saw with his own eyes. That his teeth had changed, that he had drunk Rechert’s blood like wine, those were not to be disputed. That he was magically healed…

Healed. Had Eagan but been there before Margaret took ill. Had he shared such with her, saved her…If only.

I will speak with this Eagan, and I would see Father and hear what he thinks of these things.

Aye, but on the ‘morrow. ‘Tis nearly dawn, and sunlight will harm ye now.

She went on, explaining that some windows had been bricked over, to protect them. His had not, only been covered in furs and the like, so he should sleep somewhere safer, where the sun could not touch him. Tomorrow they’d block up the windows.

Block up the windows. Block out the air and the light, all of the things that were healthy and bright in the world.

Though her words made sense, he refused to go with her, refused to bed down on the floor of her chambers. When she realized she couldn’t shift him, she surrendered, leaving him with advice to stay as far from the windows as he could, lest some light leak in and burn him.

Alone, he dropped back on the bed and closed his eyes, hands on his head as if to force sanity back into it. Perhaps ‘twas all a dream, a horrible nightmare. When he woke, he’d find Margaret bending over him, a smile on her lips, her soft eyes shining with joy to see him home.

Yes, that must be it.

When Jamie woke to the twilight gloom of his room, the first thing he noticed was the emptiness. Despite his hope, Margaret was not there, smiling or otherwise. He sat up, rubbing at his burning throat, and gazed about the room. The previous night’s rubble lay everywhere; broken furniture, smashed possessions, even the shattered pitcher. It was as it had been in his nightmare.

He touched his teeth to discover the same sharp points. What if it’s not a nightmare? What if this is truth?

It was too horrible to think about.

Still, he climbed from the bed and got dressed, looking often to the heavily covered windows. No light leaked around them, no hint of sun or shine. When he was clothed, he approached them slowly, as though they were an enemy waiting to attack, then carefully lifted the corner of the coverings. He tensed, waiting for light to burn him as his sister warned, but nothing happened. He lifted it further and found the cause: there was no sun. The world outside was cloaked in the soft mantle of late evening. Stars already blinked against the dark velvet, and the horizon was deep purple. He’d slept the entirety of the day.

He dropped the make-shift drapes and left in search of his father. In the corridor, the warm smell of dinner floated to him, and he followed it. His father had waited this long, what would a few minutes matter?

However, it was not a feast at the end of it, but rather his father’s steward, William. The man looked upon him with alarm and jumped back, hands raised.

And so they have done it ta ye as well, young laird.

The smell of the man was overwhelming – no not the man, his blood – but Jamie struggled to pull back. Done what?

Made ye one of them. Dinnae seem so surprised, as the steward of this place there is no secret hidden from me.

Then tell me where I may find… though he meant to say many different things, the only word that his tongue would form was, sustenance.

The kitchen, young laird. There are arrangements there for this peculiar diet.

Aye. Jamie nodded his thanks and practically ran, before he did to the steward as he had done to Rechert the night before.

Though the hearth fire was lit in the kitchen, it gave little comfort. Gone was the bustle and activity Jamie had always observed there, replaced with shadowy corners and a heavy emptiness. There was no sign of food, save three carafes of something crimson on the table, next to a trio of goblets.

Jamie recognized the smell immediately. He didn’t bother with the goblet, but drank straight from the pitcher in long, satisfying gulps. He stopped, only when it was empty, to stare at the drained carafe with disappointment.

Uncle Jamie! A pair of child voices cried from the doorway. Jamie spun, wiping his mouth as quickly as he could, lest the bairns see the blood upon his lips.

Clouds of dark hair, pink cheeks, and bright eyes, the boys tumbled into the room. They flung themselves on him, chattering in excitement, one over the other, so he could scarce make out their tales. He could smell their blood, smell the life in them, and knew instinctively that they’d not been changed as he and his sister.

Enough, Caitrin cried as she hurried inside. Enough! Do not pester yer uncle so. She dragged them back, squirming. Go wash yer faces, and find yer father.

They groaned, but she sent them scooting with gentle swats to their backsides. She watched them go, the pride of motherhood shining in her eyes. Nay, yer right. They were left as they are, so that they can grow ta manhood.

Jamie shot her a questioning look and she explained, I told ye last night, we do not age. Had they been made as us, they’d have stayed as babes for eternity. Such a thing is wrong.

He didn’t want to think about the implications, the tender ins and outs or tragedies of such an act, so he merely nodded and looked away.

Footsteps came, then a bearded man walked into the room. Long golden hair fell around his shoulders, his expression one of friendly curiosity. Jamie felt at once the difference between him and the children. This stranger was as he was now, changed, inhuman, but older. Much older.

Caitrin straightened and quickly introduced Eagan, the one who had forever changed them. At the sight of his facial hair, Jamie touched his own chin to find it clean shaven.

’I shaved ye, his sister said, as if she’d read his thoughts. Eagan said ‘twas part of the ritual when Androu and I…When we were changed.

Aye, that they say it is, lass, Eagan said good naturedly. Though ‘twas not so in my day, as ye can see, lad. He pointed to his own beard. Now, let me have a look at ye. The man stood before Jamie, surveying him. Aye, ye look ta be a strapping specimen. No doubt brave and fierce and all the like.

Jamie narrowed his eyes. That this man was to be his master, in any capacity… Aye. Fierce I be.

Good, good. A bit o’fierce is always good in this business.

What business?

Why, the business of bein’ immortal, lad. Dinnae want a soft pawed dandy, do we? No doubt ye have questions fer me? Mark, I may not be able ta answer them all, but I will do what I can, so long as ye dinnae mind it over me meal. He gave a wink as he poured a goblet from one of the carafes.

Jamie’s questions came fast and furious. True to his word, Eagan answered as he could – or as he claimed he could. That he had been traveling he affirmed, and had simply asked for lodgings. The turmoil intrigued him, so he stayed on, not telling the castle’s occupants his secret nature until he decided to offer them the same. As to how he’d become such, another of his kind had given the blood to him, and on and on, back into the mists of memory.

While they spoke, Caitrin drained two goblets herself, nodding here and there, but never interjecting. When they’d finished, she said quietly, Though I did not ask Master Eagan’s leave ta make ye, I hope he is not too disappointed.

The older man sighed. Nay lass, I cannae blame ye fer what ye done. I woulda done the same in yer place. ‘Tis hard ta watch the suffering of a loved one. I ken already that ye are a strong lass. Yer bravery in the dark deeds of late have shown that. He squeezed her shoulder affectionately. Where be that husband o’yours?

With the bairns, or that was my order ta them.

Eagan chuckled. Good, good. But we must finish soon, so the mortals might come back and make the babe’s dinner, eh? Jamie’s confusion must have been on his face, for he added, Ta prevent … unfortunate accidents, all are ordered ta avoid the kitchen an’ sleepin’ quarters ‘til we’ve fed. Fresh fledglings have weak control, as yer’ve no doubt noticed.

Jamie muttered a semi-agreement under his breath, the memory of Rechert bright in his mind. Too bright, in fact. Each moment of the night before hung in crystal clarity, a stark contrast to the foggy memories of all that had come before.

Aye, that be the difference between mortal memories and immortal, Eagan said.

Jamie looked to him sharply, and Caitrin explained, Master Eagan can see ta yer thoughts.

See my thoughts? Jamie demanded. What do you-

Aye, she means I can hear them, when I choose, or when yer fiery passions make ‘em louder than usual. It’s a talent Caitrin and Androu are developing, as will you. He chuckled. Speak of the devil himself, here he is.

Androu strolled through the door, his long hair neat and his face as cleanly shaven as Jamie’s. He nodded to his brother-in-law and poured himself a goblet.

Jamie was oddly grateful that Androu didn’t speak. He’d had too much information in too short a time and needed a break from it. I thank ye fer this morning conversation, but I would see Father if I can, and speak ta him. Things went ill at Dunbar, and I ken not what plans may be laid, only that we must be vigilant.

Caitrin choked, a hand to her throat. Ye cannae think ye could fight anymore, Jamie? Not like this? Ye wouldn’t survive the day without shelter. Ye must remain home, now.

Jamie scoffed. I will see what Father has ta say of such things.

Eagan set aside his empty goblet, his eyebrows lifted in surprise. Yer father, lad? Didn’a she tell ye? He’s dead.

Jamie’s heart throbbed. His breath tightened into a knot. First his wife, now his father? What in the hell had happened while he was away? Had they both died of sickness, weeks, or even days before an immortal fae waltzed into their castle, one who could have saved them? Such ill luck seemed laughable, if he was able to laugh without crying.

Caitrin wrung her hands. I dinnae, not yet. It seemed too cruel a stroke, after tellin’ him of Margaret’s passin’. I thought perhaps ta give him some time.

Time? Jamie cried. Time fer what?

Caitrin looked away. Ta adjust. There’s so much ta get used ta.

He motioned her good intentions away. How did it happen? How did Da die?

Was the English, Eagan said.

The English? Jamie slammed his fist into the table, hard enough to make the goblets jump. What have those devils ta do with it?

They knew he was a traitor, lad, or a rebel if ye prefer that word. They hung him, in the town square. He died well.

Jamie gaped. Traitor? How could they have known?

There was testimony, lad.

Testimony? Did he mean... Someone betrayed him? Betrayed us? Jamie dropped his hands to pace in a furious circle, his mind racing over every face he could conjure, imagining the contents of their hearts. What man did they know who could do such a thing – would do such a thing? Not one of the household. No. And not someone from the clan. They were all behind it, all in support…

He stopped pacing and looked to his sister, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Something in her posture seemed wrong. Guilty. It wasn’t to spare him that she had kept this from him, it was because…Because why?

His eyes flicked to Androu, to the man’s quiet, cold face. The way he sipped from his goblet, unconcerned, unmoved. His joke came back to Jamie, One step closer ta being Laird, aren’t I?

If Da is dead, that would leave only me, and there was a good chance I would die in battle.

He scowled at his brother-in-law. If Father was truly found guilty of sedition, how does it come that he alone was killed? How is it that his daughter and her husband, that his household, a household of traitors, still lives? Did the English allow such a thing? ‘Tis not in their nature. I have seen…I have heard…all would be killed! He stepped closer to Androu. Or did ye kill him?

Androu scoffed, and Eagan answered, Aye, ‘tis true enough that they have been known ta take the whole family. But this time they did not find the rest of his household ta be traitors. Androu provided his testimony, and professed his loyalty ta them. In reward, he was made laird in yer father’s place. They send their agents from time ta time ta check his loyalty, o’ course.

As Eagan’s words filtered through – as Jamie understood their meaning - he saw the corner of Androu’s mouth twitch. A smirk?

"One step closer ta being Laird, aren’t I?"

Except now he was Laird.

With a roar, Jamie upended the table, sending the contents to the floor in a shattering crash. Ye snake! Betrayer! Judas! With another cry he bounded over the mess and slammed Androu into the wall, one hand around his throat. With the fae touch comes new strength, I pray only ‘tis enough ta choke the life from ye!

Caitrin shrieked and tried to rip him away but, fully fed and fueled by fury, he shook her off. Androu kicked and fought, nearly breaking free before Jamie slammed a fist into his face. Blood sprayed from a broken nose, and Androu choked.

Then Jamie was torn away and left stumbling. He straightened, ready to knock Caitrin aside, but it was Eagan who stood before him, eyes hard stones. Aye, fierce ye may be lad, but fierceness knows its place. ‘Tis not now.

If not now, then when? Jamie roared. He is a black heart, a traitor, a-

Caitrin stood at her husband’s side, trying to stem the flow of blood from his nose. He did as he must, she barked. Da knew-

He knew he had a Judas fer a son-in-law and little better fer a daughter! Jamie jerked his clothes straight. I cannae stay under the same roof as snakes. Fer the sake of my sister I will go and leave ye alive, Androu. You can keep the lands, and the titles, all the things ye wanted enough ta stain yerself with my family’s blood. But ken that should I ever lay eyes on ye again, my sister will be left ta mourn while hell opens its gates ta welcome ye.

Androu didn’t flinch, only looked back with cold, steely eyes. Aye, do as ye see fit, Jamie.

Brother- Caitrin started, but Jamie didn’t wait for her to finish. He stormed away, footsteps echoing over the cold stone floors toward his chambers. His bag was nearly packed when Caitrin appeared in the doorway, hands fluttering nervously.

Jamie, ye cannae mean ta leave us.

I can, and do.

She stepped closer to lay her hand on his arm. Truly? Ye are the only family I have left.

He pulled away. Whose fault is that? Ye were here, Caitrin. Did it happen as they said. Did it?

She dropped her eyes. Aye. They came ta investigate, they said. They had reports, Jamie. Da knew what it would come ta. He knew they’d kill us all. Androu – if he hadn’t given testimony, sworn his loyalty-

Did ye see him hanged?

She drew a sharp breath and Jamie repeated the question with more