Beyond a Highland Whisper by Maeve Greyson

“Latharn, are ye sure ye never touched the lass?”

His father’s scowl burned across the room mere seconds ahead of the words.

The reproach in Laird Caelan MacKay’s voice stung Latharn like a physical blow. Tension knotted his muscles and his body stiffened with the bitterness pounding through his veins. Only years of respect for his father held his tongue. How could his father treat him this way? He wasn’t an irresponsible boy anymore. How dare he be treated like a lust-crazed lad!

The great hall of the MacKay keep spanned the largest part of the castle and housed every important gathering of the clan. Flexing his shoulders, Latharn inhaled a deep breath. From where he stood, the room shrank by the moment. He couldn’t believe his father had chosen the monthly clan meeting as a means for resolving this matter.

How dare he try to shame Latharn into a confession by confronting him in front of his kinsmen. This ploy had worked well enough when Latharn was a lad.

His father had used it often whenever he or his brothers had gotten into mischief. Latharn involuntarily flexed his buttocks in remembrance of punishment received after a confession ousted in just such a manner. However, he wasn’t a mischievous boy anymore. This was private; they could handle it between themselves.

Every man, woman, and child strained to hear Latharn’s reply. His father’s closest warriors leaned forward upon the benches. The servants peeped around the corners of the arches, their serving platters clenched to their chests. Latharn rubbed the back of his neck; his skin tingled from their piercing stares.

His father’s face flushed a decided shade of purple. Apparently, he’d delayed his answer long enough. Clipping his words just short of blatant disrespect, Latharn growled through a tight-lipped scowl. “How many times do I have to swear to ye, Father? I have never laid eyes on the MacKinnett lass. I canna bring her face to mind and I havena planted a child in her womb!”

The hall remained silent. Even the dogs sprawled beneath the tables ceased in their endless scuffling for scraps. The only sound breaking the tensed silence was the pop of the wood just thrown upon the fires.

With his hands curled into shaking fists, The MacKay pounded the arm of his chair centered at the head of the great hall. Laird MacKay raised his voice to a throaty growl as he edged forward in his chair. “The MacKinnett clan has always been allied with ours. Their lands join our southernmost borders. Must I tell ye how serious these allegations are to our families? The treaty between our clans has been solid for years. God’s beard, son! If ye’ve dishonored their family, there will be no more peace.

This lass is the only daughter of their laird!”

His knuckles whitened on the arms of his chair as he continued his tirade. Laird MacKay tensed on the edge of his seat as though he were about to spring upon his prey. Heavily streaked with gray, Laird MacKay’s once-golden hair gave him the appearance of a battle-weary lion. Though his body showed subtle signs of an aging Highlander, his eyes still blazed as his roar echoed throughout the great hall.

“Always, ye’ve been one to skirt danger, Latharn! I will admit…’twas usually for the greater good. However, you yourself must also agree, there have been times when ye have yanked the tail of the sleeping dragon just to see if it would breathe fire.

So far, your quick wit has kept ye safe from whatever troubles ye have stirred. But this time, I must know the absolute truth: did ye lie with The MacKinnett’s daughter?”

How many times was he going to ask him? Did he think he was going to change his answer? Anger surged through Latharn’s veins. Rage flashed through him like a cruel, biting wind. He crossed his arms as a barrier across his chest and curled his mouth into a challenging sneer. They didn’t believe him. No matter what he said, they didn’t believe his words. He read it in their eyes. He spit his words as though their bitter taste soured on his tongue. “I swear to ye upon all I hold sacred, I don’t even know the lass’s name!”

A brooding man the size of a mountain stood at Laird MacKay’s side. Stepping forward, he thrust an accusing finger toward Latharn’s chest as though he aimed a lance for the killing throw. “Since when did not knowing a lass’s name keep ye from tumbling her in your bed?” Latharn’s brother, Faolan, stalked forward upon the dais, shaking his head at his brother’s latest scandal. Faolan was the eldest of the MacKay sons, next in line to be laird. The look on his face plainly told Latharn he deemed his brother guilty on all charges as stated.

Latharn snarled. “Stay out of this, Faolan. Ye may have beat the rest of us out of Mother’s womb, but ye’re no’ the laird, yet.” Latharn met his brother’s glare, squaring his shoulders as he stalked forward to answer Faolan’s challenge.

How dare Faolan pass judgment against him?

Latharn didn’t deny he’d enjoyed many a maid since he’d grown to be a man. However, that didn’t mean he’d ever treated them unkindly or shown them any disrespect. He’d sated them fully and when their time was done, he’d taken care to spare their feelings as best he could. Never once had Latharn been inclined to give of his heart…nor had he pretended to do so just to lure a pretty maiden to his bed.

“The lady’s name is Leanna and you will speak of her with respect.” The clear voice rang out through the archway of the hall, causing everyone’s heads to turn. Latharn’s mother, Rachel, emerged from an offset alcove, her eyes flashing in irritation toward her youngest son. “Her clan says she has named you as the father of her child. If she carries your child, Latharn, you will do right by her.”

Latharn winced as thunder rumbled in the distance. Whenever his mother’s emotions were in an upheaval, the weather’s stability always suffered.

Rachel’s powers directly connected with the ebb and flow of the forces of nature. Her emotions meshed with the energies coursing through the physical realm. Thunder while Mother was clearly upset was never a promising sign.

Latharn’s heart sank as he heard the ring of doubt echo in his mother’s voice. She had always been his greatest champion. Whenever the rest of the family rushed to deem him guilty when trouble was in their midst, Rachel always kept an open mind until she’d heard his side of the story. If his mother already believed him guilty this time, how would he convince the rest of them he didn’t even know this lass existed?

Latharn had emerged as the youngest of the MacKay triplets. His name was Gaelic for “the fox” and it had served him well. Little did his parents know how aptly the title would fit when they had chosen it for the innocent babe. Whenever mischief occurred, the wily young Latharn had always been the first to be accused. But that same charm and cunning that was the source of all the mayhem also bailed him out of any trouble he’d caused. That is until now, until this latest uproar that had the entire family in such a stir.

Casting a furtive glance at his mother, Latharn wondered why he was to blame for the women always chasing him. It wasn’t as if he went awhoring all over the country for just anyone to warm his bed. Since he had reached manhood, there didn’t seem to be a lass in the Highlands who could resist him. He didn’t know why they always sought him out. He didn’t do anything special. He was just nice to them…and they followed him to his bed. In fact, sometimes they didn’t follow him. Sometimes, he’d find them waiting for him when he arrived in his chambers. Latharn shifted in place and adjusted his kilt. A lass probably lurked in his private hallways this very minute. It had become somewhat of a problem escaping them.

Latharn had grown restless. Now that he was older, he’d grown weary of their freely given charms.

A quick tumble with a lass was once an incomparable elation. Now the euphoria had dimmed. The satisfaction had dulled to basic physical release. Even while lying spent in erotic exhaustion with a sated lass cooing by his side, Latharn knew there had to be more.

Of late, he’d found a night spent in a luscious maiden’s arms left his heart troubled, as though a question nagged at the tip of his tongue and the answer danced just beyond his reach. No matter her beauty, no matter her sweetness, they all left him empty and cold. Loneliness settled over him like a weight crushing on his chest.

There had to be more then the mere physical pleasure of losing himself in a woman’s embrace. He knew there was more to be found. The security of his parents’ love for each other had strengthened their family as far back as he could remember. He sought that glow of contentment he’d seen in his parents’ eyes when their gaze met across a room. No matter how many years had passed between them, the look they shared never changed. He ached for the connection his parents had found. He longed to lose himself in another’s eyes and speak volumes without saying a word. It was time he cradled his newborn child in his arms, with his loving wife nestled at his side.

Latharn stifled a shudder; the tension gnawed at his gut. The expressions on their faces told him so much more than words. They’d never believe the things he’d done to avoid the women vying for his embrace. His emptiness ached like a festering wound that refused to heal. He decided to search for the elusive answer by honing his mystical powers.

He’d hoped by refining and perfecting his magical gifts, he might solve the mystery of his untouchable heart.

Of late, he’d been so engrossed in sharpening his goddess-given powers, he’d not even walked with a woman in the gardens for several months. He’d been holed up in the northern tower of the keep. There was no way he fathered the MacKinnett woman’s child. By Amergin’s beard, it had to have been at least five full moons since he’d been outside the castle skirting walls!

The air of the keep closed in around him; the sweltering heat of too many bodies shoved in one room added to his discomfort. Latharn raked his hands through his hair and tore himself from his tortured musings. His mother glared at him, her foot tapping. Perhaps it was the fire that flashed in her eyes bringing the heat to his skin. “I know of no Leanna MacKinnett!” he ground out through clenched teeth. Latharn braced himself for his family’s damning replies. His gut already wrenched with the unspoken accusations springing from their eyes.

Raking his own hands through his graying hair, Laird MacKay expelled a heavy sigh. Fixing his gaze on his son with a disappointed glower, he dropped his hands to the arms of his chair. “Their banabuidhseach will arrive at any time. Their clan will not be satisfied with your denials until their seer has had a chance to speak with ye and weigh the truth of your words.”

Latharn turned to his mother. There was one more thing he had to say in his defense. He didn’t care if the rest of the MacKay clan didn’t believe him. His mother would believe his innocence.

“Mother! As many abandoned bairns as I’ve rescued while on my travels, as many waifs as I’ve brought home to this clan… Do ye honestly think I would be able to deny a child of my own blood, a child I had sired? Do ye truly think I would turn my back on a bairn of my very own?”

Latharn towered over his mother, peering down into her eyes and opening his soul to her senses. She had to believe him. He trusted his mother’s intuition to see the truth in his heart. His voice fell to a defeated whisper as he groaned and repeated his earlier words.

“I swear to ye, Mother. I am not the father of the woman’s child. I know of no Leanna MacKinnett!”

Rachel’s hand fluttered to her throat and she slowly nodded. “I believe you, Latharn. Moreover, I will do what I can to shield you from their banabuidhseach.

I hear this woman’s powers are amazing, perhaps even stronger than mine. But I’ll do whatever I can to protect you from any evil that may be traveling upon the mists.”

With a heaviness in his chest and a catch in his voice, Latharn rasped into his mother’s hair, “Your belief in me is all I’ve ever needed, Mother. Ye know I would never bring dishonor to our family or shame upon our clan.” He brushed his lips across his mother’s cheek just as chaos erupted at the archway of the hall.

Her shrill cry echoed through the keep as the MacKinnett bana-buidhseach screeched like an enraged crow. “I demand retribution for Clan MacKinnett. That heartless cur has sullied Leanna MacKinnett’s good name!”

The bent old woman rocked to and fro at the entrance to the hall, brandishing her gnarled walking stick overhead like a weapon. Her white hair hung in tangled shocks across her stooped shoulders. Her black eyes glittered in her shriveled face, like a rat’s beady eyes from a darkened corner.

Her somber robes swept the rush-covered floor with every dragging step. Even the brawniest Highlander in the crowd faded back as she hitched her way to the front of the cavernous room.

Drawing a deep breath, Latharn’s muscle tensed as the old crone edged her way toward him.

Tangible power emanated from her swirling aura as he studied her twisted form. This seer’s energies rivaled those of his time-traveling mother’s. The battering rush of the crone’s malicious emotional onslaught threatened to slam him against the farthest wall.

His mother’s powers had been refined through several generations to her in the twenty-first century. However, her aura had never emitted such waves of energy, not even after magnification through the portals of time.

Immense anger emanated from deep within the old woman, reaching out toward Latharn like a deadly claw. The crone’s soul overflowed with touchable hatred. Latharn braced himself as a rising sense of dread curled its icy fingers around his spine.

He shuddered, swallowing hard against bitter bile as he noticed something else. The bana-buidhseach’s aura seethed with an underlying layer of evil his mother could never possess. The witch’s pulsating energy roiled with a menacing thread of darkness he’d never seen the likes of before.

Cocking her head to one side, a malicious glint shone in her eyes. Her mouth curled into a grimace as she croaked, “What say ye, MacKay cur? Do ye deny robbing my laird’s daughter of her precious maidenhead? Do ye deny ruining her for any other man?”

With a single stamp of her crooked staff upon the floor, enraged lightning responded outside, the flash splintering throughout the room. Everyone in the hall cowered against the walls, shielding their faces from the narrow windows high overhead. The acrid tang of sulfur hung heavy in the air from the burn of the splitting energy.

Theatrics to get her point across. This does not bode well. His hands tensing into clenched fists, Latharn took a deep breath before he spoke. “I fear there has been a grave misunderstanding. I have not been outside the walls of Castle MacKay in the passing of the last five moons.”

“Exactly!” she spat, jabbing her bony finger from deep within her ragged sleeve. The bana-buidhseach hitched sideways closer to Latharn and shook a threatening fist in his face. “Ye appeared to the lass while she lay in her bed. Your vile essence washed over her silken body by the light of the swollen moon. As your spirit swirled upon the mist of the bittersweet night, ye violated her ripe nest and filled her with your seed.”

Eyes flashing with a mother’s protective rage, Rachel shoved her way between Latharn and the snarling hag. Resting her hand on Latharn’s chest, Rachel stood nose to nose with the crone. “Surely, you don’t believe in such an outlandish tale? The girl could not possibly find herself pregnant in the way you just described.”

The crone hitched her way even closer to Rachel, her dark eyes narrowed into calculating slits.

Hissing her reply, her foul breath nearly colored the air around her as she spit through rotted teeth with every word. “Do ye call me a liar, Lady MacKay? Do ye slur the name of Leanna MacKinnett and the honored MacKinnett clan?”

The hall crackled with the conflicting forces of emotional energy as lightning once again splintered the electrified air. Thunder roared, shaking the walls until debris rained down from the rafters. Rachel circled the wizened old hag. “I’ve nothing to say about Leanna MacKinnett or the good name of the MacKinnett clan. I defend my son’s honor against your lies. I challenge your slander against an honorable MacKay son!”

With a wave of her hand and a narrowed eye, the hag halted Rachel where she stood. The spell she cast silenced Rachel’s voice and paralyzed her body.

Sliding around Rachel, she stabbed a gnarled finger into the middle of Latharn’s chest. A demonic smile curled across her face as she sidled her body closer.

With a flourish of one hand, she withdrew a ball of swirling glass from the folds of her tattered robe.

Her cackling voice rose to a maniacal shriek as she lifted the ball for all to see. “Do ye deny lying with every maiden whose head ye happened to turn? Do ye deny withholding your heart from every woman in which ye’ve ever planted your cock?”

Latharn’s voice fell to a low, guttural whisper as dread gripped him in his gut. “Who are ye, woman? What is it ye seek from me?” An icy premonition, fear of what was to come, stole the very breath from his lungs. Latharn knew in the very depths of his soul there had never been a Leanna MacKinnett.

This wasn’t judgment for ruining some woman or the name of her clan. The stench of something much more sinister hung in the air. It rankled with every breath he took.

With a crazed laugh, the shriveled old woman transformed before his eyes. Her dry, tangled hair lengthened into flowing black tresses. Her sallow, wrinkled skin smoothed into creamy silk. Her bent frame straightened, blossoming into a shapely woman, breasts full, hips round and firm.

Her eyes remained black as the darkest obsidian, and full red lips curled into a seductive, malicious smile. Her voice became a throaty, honeylaced melody, deadly in its hypnotic tone. “Do ye remember me now, my beautiful Highlander? We were together once, you and I. We were lovers, but now I come here as your judge and jailer. And I have found ye guilty of withholding your heart from the only one who truly deserves your love.”

“Deardha?” Latharn recoiled from the seductress bearing down upon him.

As she thrust the deep violet globe into his face, Deardha’s voice echoed across the hall. “Aye, Latharn. Ye remember me now? Listen closely to my words. I condemn ye to this eternal prison. I banish ye to this crystal hell. Ye are far too powerful a charmer of magic to be toying with women’s hearts. No longer will I allow ye to sow your seed with any poor fool who warms your bed. If ye willna pledge your heart to me, then ye shall wish that ye were dead.” As Deardha uttered the spell, blinding white energy swirled from the tips of her long pale fingers.

The shimmering tendrils flowed and curled, constricting around Latharn’s body.

With an enraged scream, Rachel broke free of Deardha’s binding spell. Forcing her way between Latharn and the witch, she clawed at Deardha’s face.

“Mother, no!” Latharn roared, fighting against the tightening bands of the curse meshed about his body. “Ye must get away from her. Save yourself!”

He couldn’t breathe. His heartbeat slowed and the room darkened around him. This must be what it felt like to die. Latharn struggled to focus his eyes.

The conflicting forces threw Rachel across the room as Deardha’s field of malevolence blasted against the walls. The winds howled and roared as the demonic chaos ripped throughout the castle.

Then all fell silent just as swift as the storm had risen and a fog of sorrow settled over the room.

Latharn shuddered awake to an icy smoothness pressed against his spine. Finding his arms freed, he flexed his hands, wincing as he rolled his bruised and battered shoulders. Where was he? He lifted his head, staring about in disbelief at the see-through globe enclosed around his body.

Everyone eased their way out from where they’d taken cover: they crawled out from under tables, from behind overturned benches. Eyes wide with fear, they glanced about the room to see if the attack was over.

Latharn spread his hands on the curved, cold glass. What were they doing? Why did they mill around him like he wasn’t there? It was as though he sat among their feet on the floor. What the hell were they doing?

The serving lads rushed to re-light the torches lining the walls. The scattered clansmen and villagers rose from the floor, checking each other for injuries. Tables and benches lay about the room like scattered rushes strewn across the floor. Tapestries and tartans hung in tattered strips, nothing left on the standards but bits of colored shreds.

Laird MacKay shoved his way through the wreckage to his wife. Rachel lay in a crumpled heap beside the hearth, her weakened breath barely moving her chest.

“Mother!” Latharn shouted against the glass. If she was dead it would be no one’s fault but his own. Standing, Latharn stretched to see if Rachel would move.

Laird MacKay cradled her against his chest, pressing his lips to her forehead until she opened her eyes.

Rachel struggled to lift her head, her eyes widening with disbelief as she looked across the room directly toward Latharn. Lifting her hand, her voice cracked with pain as she keened her sorrow to all who remained in the great hall. “My baby!” she sobbed. Waving her trembling hand toward her son, she buried her face in Caelan’s chest.

Latharn closed his eyes against the sight of his mother rocking herself against her pain. As her wails grew louder, he covered his ears and roared to drown out the sound.