Faelan: A Highland Warrior Brief Page 3

Faelan spotted his brother’s dirk on the ground and picked it up. He ran toward the demon and when it turned, he roared out a battle cry and leapt at the creature, driving Tavis’ dirk under its ribs. He didn’t stop until the dirk pierced the demon’s heart. It screeched in rage and disappeared.

  Voices broke through his shock. Faelan turned and saw his father and Kieran staring at him, jaws dropped. Behind them, the other warriors also gaped. Faelan lowered his arm, panting. The strength he’d felt a moment ago was gone. His knees shook and he felt like he might collapse. His father dismounted and ran toward him. Kieran and the others also hurried over.

  “What happened?” his father asked.

  Faelan looked at the spot where the demon had disappeared. “It attacked us.”

  “Us?” his father said.

  Faelan turned to his brother, who lay groaning on the ground.

  “Tavis!” His father ran over and knelt beside him. “What in God’s name are you two doing out here?”

  “Coming to tell you that Ian really did see a demon.”

  “Inside the fence?” His father leaned back, his expression shocked.

  “No. Not far from here, toward the village. We went there earlier. We were racing back when Ian saw the demon. It spooked his horse and it threw him.”

  Tavis sprang up with a yell and punched the warrior who had been trying to help him to his feet. He looked around, his eyes wild. “Faelan?”

  Da grabbed hold of him. “He’s here, lad. He’s fine.”

  “Where’s the demon?”

  All eyes turned to Faelan. “Your brother destroyed it,” Da said. “It’s gone.”

  “He destroyed it? Bloody hell.”

  Da scowled at him. He didn’t approve of them cursing.

  A moan sounded behind them. Every warrior whirled and drew his sword.

  “It’s just Agnes,” Faelan said.

  “Agnes?” Da frowned. “She’s here?”

  “She’s over there,” Faelan said, pointing to where Tavis had put her on the ground. “She’s unconscious, but I don’t think she’s hurt.”

  “How did she get here?”

  “She must have followed us. It looks like she fell.” He hoped it wasn’t because she was running from the demon.

  “I told you not to leave the castle grounds.”

  Kieran approached and placed a hand on their father’s shoulder. “Aiden, your lad has just destroyed a demon. A powerful one from what we saw. He isn’t even a warrior yet.” He glanced at Faelan. “He’s what? Seventeen?”

  “Sixteen,” his father mumbled, rubbing his chin. “How did you do it?”

  “I don’t know,” Faelan said. “I just killed it. It was going to kill Tavis.”

  Kieran continued to watch Faelan. “The Council will need to hear about this.”

  “Aye, but I’m not sure what to tell them.” Da sighed. “Well, I think we’d best be getting Agnes back to her father and hope she didn’t see the demon. I don’t know how we’d explain that.”

  Kieran and another warrior offered to take her home while the others checked the area to see if they could figure where the demon had come from and to make sure he had been alone. Kieran stooped and picked up Faelan’s and Tavis’ dirks from the ground, where they had fallen when the demon vanished. He handed Faelan’s to him and clasped his shoulder. “I would like to start training you, if your father agrees.”

  “It’s too early,” his father said. “He won’t be eighteen for another two years.”

  “I think he should start now.”

  Da frowned. “Why?”

  “Can you tell me the last time you saw a sixteen-year-old destroy a full demon?”

  “Never, I reckon.”

  Kieran grinned. “Neither can I. I believe we’ve got a mighty warrior on our hands.”

  Chapter Three

  Seven years later

  Scotland, Connor Castle, the Warrior Games

  “If you’re not him, then where is he?” the boldest of the lasses asked after Tavis had assured them for the second time that he was not the Mighty Faelan.

  “He had to go to battle.”

  Her red-headed friend narrowed her eyes. “But you look just like him.”

  “Aye, he does,” the bold one agreed, looking him up and down, starting from his boots and slowly moving over his kilt—at which point her cheeks grew pink—then up to his face. “Is he coming, then, the Mighty Faelan?”

  Tavis rolled his eyes, regretting ever giving Faelan that name. It had been in jest but the name had stuck. “I’m sure the Mighty Faelan will be here as soon as he slays another legion of demons.”

  The lasses’ smiles faltered at Tavis’ sarcasm. He was getting tired of their nonsense so he put a hand on either side of his sporran and gave them a leer. “He’s not the only mighty one in the family.”

  They collapsed into giggles and ran away. He stared after them, shaking his head. If he lived three lifetimes, he’d never figure lasses out. These were two of the most annoying he’d seen, and he’d seen plenty. The world was full of bonny faces. They were the ones that got you in trouble. Human or not. A shiver ran down his spine thinking about that last demon he’d suspended. The female demons were extraordinarily beautiful. He had almost fallen for her charms, thinking she was a barmaid. It was only when he got close enough to kiss her that he caught her quick glance behind the door, and smelled the other demon waiting there. A male, and in his demon form. The very demon he’d been chasing. He’d had to destroy him, that or die himself. He’d managed to slap shackles on the female while she stared in shock at the empty air where her demon companion had been a moment before. She hadn’t been so beautiful after her skin started to stretch.

  Beauty was nothing but trouble. Give him a plain woman or none at all. Why risk getting your heart trampled on or having her turn out to be the spawn of Satan? In fact, the more he knew about women, the more he hoped he didn’t find a mate. He wasn’t convinced there was anything to destined mates anyway. He figured it had more to do with lust than destiny.

  “Stop woolgathering and come on,” Ian called.

  Tavis turned and saw his brother waiting, his face scrunched up impatiently. Of all three brothers, Ian looked the least like a Connor. He was thinner and had lighter hair that fell in waves to his shoulders. When he was young and tormented Tavis and Faelan by following them around, they convinced him that he wasn’t their brother, but had been fostered out to them. Ian believed it for six months, until Ma found out. She told Da, and they’d paid dearly for the prank.

  Ian might be the smallest of the three, but he was anything but frail. He was cunning and quick. He was tired now, which always put him in a foul temper. They were both sorely in need of rest. They’d only returned from battle the night before, Ian from France, Tavis from Ireland, just in time for the warrior games. The games were a welcome respite from hunting. Along with the competition, good-natured boasting, and flirtations, they offered an opportunity to share the latest news on demon activity and the status of other warrior clans.

  Tavis saw his mother and his sister Alana near a table loaded with food. They had spent days helping Cook and the kitchen maids bake and prepare for the visiting clans. Every room in the castle, and every cottage, was filled with warriors and their families. Some had put up tents in the field, and a few stayed in the village. A family reunion was the excuse. There was always a plausible excuse to divert any unwanted attention from clan activities.

  His mother kept glancing toward the woods. Warriors often traveled its hidden path to bypass the village. She turned and met Tavis’ gaze. Even from here, he could see the worry lining her face. He knew it would remain there until all her sons were home.

  Faelan was late. He should have arrived yesterday. He’d taken a dozen warriors to Sweden where a family of demons had been on a killing rampage. Tavis wasn’t worried. Faelan was one of the strongest warriors the clan had ever seen. Some said he was the strongest. He’d started training two years earl
y, and by Kieran, the most sought-after trainer. Faelan and Kieran had grown as close as brothers. Tavis liked Kieran, even considered him family, but sometimes he felt jealous. It used to be him and Faelan. Now, it felt as if Faelan hardly had time for him.

  Rubbing the battle marks on his chest, which were beginning to itch, he joined Ian on the fringes of a group of dancers who were laughing and calling out challenges, some more than a little drunk.

  “What were you doing with those two lasses?” Ian asked. “Figured after that last demon you suspended, you wouldn’t want anything to do with females for a while.”

  Tavis scowled at his brother. “They wanted to know when the Mighty Faelan would be here.”

  Ian chuckled. “He could have a harem.”

  “He doesn’t want it or need it. He has his dream lass,” Tavis said wryly. It must be one hell of a dream to replace flesh and blood. Tavis and Ian had both woken many nights—both at home and on their journeys—to hear Faelan grunting and groaning as if he had a lass in bed. Neither bribery nor blackmail had convinced Faelan to part with the name of the lass. Ian had tried near everything, even perched near his bed listening for a name.

  Tavis didn’t know who she was, but he wished his brother would stop rutting with her at night. It made it hard to keep his own head behind his sword and not under some lass’s skirt. Warriors were supposed to remain virgins until they married their mates. In part because female demons were always trying to lure warriors to their death. Usually the Council turned a blind eye to minor indiscretions, unless they wanted to make an example of someone. Tavis had sampled the charms of a few lasses, but fear that he’d stick his prick in a demon—as he’d nearly done—was a good deterrent for lust.

  “Where do you suppose Faelan is?” Ian asked.

  Tavis touched his sporran, where he’d carried the white stone for several fortnights now. Faelan hadn’t even tried to take it. All he cared about was hunting demons and saving the world. “Probably decided to destroy a few dozen more demons on his way home.”

  “I reckon there are some who are glad he hasn’t returned. So they’ll have a chance to win at the games.”

  “Like Wallace MacIntosh,” Tavis said. Not one of them could stand the sight of Wally MacIntosh. Pig-eyed bastard. He was a braggart and a coward. Tavis followed Ian past the bagpipers who were practicing along one edge of the gathering. There were several areas laid out for the different competitions. Knife-throwing, the caber toss, hammer throwing, wrestling, dancing, and even storytelling, at which their Uncle Seth was undefeated.

  “Faelan’s missing the excitement,” Ian said. “Uncle Seth claims he saw a monster in Loch Ness.”

  “Been drinking again, has he?”

  “Aye, like a fish. Move your arse. The caber toss is about to start and I’m not about to let one of them MacBains win it this year.”

  A commotion rumbled through the crowd. Tavis turned and saw riders coming out of the woods. He searched for Nandor, but he wasn’t there. Beside him, Ian also watched. Near the bagpipers, their father was trying to peer through the crowd. A black speck emerged from the trees on the flank of the group. Nandor. Tavis recognized Faelan’s horse, even from afar. His brother was just as recognizable. It wasn’t that he sat taller in the saddle than most men or that he seemed to be an extension of his horse, like a Centaur, Tavis had once jested. There was something about Faelan that was different. An aura that made him seem bigger than other warriors.

  The crowd had recognized him as well, and a cry went up. In the next breath, wagers were being placed on how many demons Faelan had slain this time.

  The feeling of anticipation was exhilarating as hooves thundered across the field. Even the Clydesdales in the back pasture had moved closer to the fence and were lifting their heads and pawing the ground. One of them snorted and the whole herd broke into a run. The crowd, now fixated on the returning warriors, moved closer. Some of the more daring youth continued out to meet the riders with shouts of bravado, ignoring cries from their mothers to stay clear of the horses.

  The warriors were immediately besieged by the crowds, especially the lasses who fanned flushed faces while staring in awe. There was generally more than competition in the air at these warrior games. Mates had to come from a clan—a warrior’s own or another—and these festivities offered a prime opportunity for mate hunting.

  Faelan was hanging back. Something was wrong. Tavis’ battle marks were tingling now. Each warrior was marked—usually on his chest—according to his weaknesses and strengths. No one knew what the ancient writing and symbols meant, but whenever someone Tavis loved was in danger, his marks tingled or itched.

  Tavis and Ian pushed through the crowd who was waiting to greet their brother. Faelan looked up and caught Tavis’ eye. His gaze was troubled, but he quickly hid it.

  “Welcome home, Mighty Faelan,” Tavis said in the deep, theatrical voice he often used to torment his brother. “Slayer of demons, lover of lasses, devourer of apple pies.” Tavis bowed low and then stumbled when Faelan shoved the handle of his sword at Tavis.

  “Hold this, brother,” Faelan said rolling his eyes. He lowered his voice. “And if it wasn’t for you, there wouldn’t be any Mighty Faelan shite.”

  “And do you know how many times I’ve regretted it?” Tavis asked, rising from his bow with a mocking grin.

  “Not nearly as many as I,” Faelan said.

  “I regret it more than the both of you. It’s the Mighty Faelan,” Ian said, doing his own imitation of a high-pitched feminine voice. “Look how handsome he is, and how large his sword is.” He pretended to fan himself. “I think I’ll swoon. Someone catch me.”

  “Catch yourself, you bloody fool.” Faelan laughed, and Tavis heard at least a half dozen female sighs.

  He held Faelan’s sword while his brother brushed dirt from his shirt. “Been rolling around on the ground with your dream lass, eh?”

  Before Faelan could gather a scowl, Alana ran up and threw her arms around his waist. “Faelan. You’re home.” She leaned back, her face glowing. “How many demons did you kill this time? Elsa and I have a wager.”

  “Didn’t ma say you’re not to be taking wagers?” Faelan gently scolded. Alana didn’t argue with him as much as she did with Tavis and Ian.

  “But it’s boring waiting for the warriors to come back. There’s nothing to do but ride horses.”

  “You love horses,” Ian said.

  “But I want to hunt demons. Will you take me on one of your hunts?” she asked Faelan.

  Tavis shook his head. “For heaven’s sake, Alana. How many times do we have to tell you lasses don’t fight demons?”

  “Well it’s not fair. Lasses can do anything a lad can.”

  Faelan ruffled her hair. “I reckon you’re right, but if we sent you out hunting demons, who would look after Ma and Da? You know we count on you.”

  Alana seemed to consider this as she plucked at a stray curl. “Well, I suppose so, for now. But when I’m eighteen, I’m going to learn how to fight demons.”

  All three brothers shared a mildly exasperated glance over Alana’s head. They had all spoiled her, probably because they felt guilt over Liam’s death. But she was a good lass in spite of it, with as much heart and spirit as any of them.

  Alana grabbed Faelan’s arm. “Can we do the portrait now?”

  All three brothers groaned.

  “I just got back,” Faelan said.

  Alana put her hands on her hips. “You promised I could paint the portrait the next time you were all together.”

  “What about the games?” Tavis said, grabbing for an excuse. Alana was a good painter, but sitting for one of her portraits was torture. “We have to visit our guests who’ve traveled so far to see us.”

  Ian, looking desperate, for he couldn’t sit still for more than ten minutes, said, “Aye and Wallace MacIntosh is over there right now bragging how he’s the best at throwing knives.”

  Alana rolled her eyes. “Wallace is a ho
rse’s arse.”

  “Watch your tongue,” Tavis said, flicking her ear. “Ma will wash your mouth out with soap. And here she comes now...”

  “Tell her I said it, and I’ll tell her that I saw you kissing Marna.”

  “I was not kissing her,” Tavis said. Almost, but not quite. Marna came to the castle most days to give Alana her lessons. Marna’s father had taught the brothers, and when he retired, his daughter took over, but she had her sights set on more than tutoring. She wanted Tavis, and she was making it very difficult for him to resist her invitation.

  “She’s a bit plain,” Ian said.

  Plain was safer.

  “Talk about lasses swooning,” Faelan said with a grin. “Marna does look a bit faint whenever Tavis walks by.”

  “Her cheeks get pink,” Alana said.

  “There’s nothing between me and Marna.” For the moment. But at twenty-two, an open offer from someone he knew wasn’t a demon was quite a temptation. Tavis swatted Alana lightly on the shoulder. “You wee devil.”

  Their mother and father joined them. Ma threw her arms around Faelan then stepped back and kissed his cheeks. “All my lads home safe,” she said, beaming.

  Da clapped Faelan on the back. “Welcome home, son.”

  Alana looked at Da’s shirt and kilt, the latter which bore a suspicious brown spot, and she wrinkled her nose. “What’s that smell?”

  “I’ve been showing the horses.”

  “Well, do you think you might change into something nicer for the portrait?”

  “Portrait?” His face fell. “Now? But the games...” He trailed off when he saw Alana’s pout.

  “We’re never home at the same time,” she pleaded. “Last time you all promised next time.”

  “Aye,” Da said, sighing. “Let’s wait a bit. Wallace MacIntosh is talking his nonsense again. Any one of you could beat that jackass at throwing a knife. Do you lads have your throwing knives?”

  “Aye,” they all echoed. Da couldn’t stand Wallace MacIntosh any more than Tavis and his brothers could.

  “He is an ill-mannered lout,” Ma said.