EREA RUSHED OUT of the broch, nearly slipping over on the icy steps in her haste to be free of the place.
The snow fell thickly now, in blinding plumes that obscured the surrounding loch and mountains, and turned the whole world white.
Gasping for breath, as panic assailed her, Erea clutched her fur cloak.
Her happiness with Tad was forgotten, replaced by a sickly horror that made her want to retch.
Moving out of instinct rather than purpose, Erea stumbled across the yard at the front of the steps and into the stables. The shaggy heads of ponies greeted her, accompanied by the scent of hay, and the dusty, pungent smell of the animals themselves.
Erea fled along the aisle between the stalls, ignoring the ponies, until she reached Caorainn’s stall. The gelding nickered a soft greeting, and Erea went to him, burying her face in the thick winter coat of his neck.
Her heart thundered, and her mind raced.
I can’t stay here. I have to run … now.
And yet for the moment she was rendered immobile, traumatized by her discovery and the awful things it implied.
Things she could not bear to contemplate.
Ma … you should have told me. She silently railed at her mother as tears leaked from her closed eyes. I needed to know.
If her mother had revealed her father’s identity, Erea would never have set foot in the Broch of Dun Grianan.
“Erea.” A male voice intruded, splintering her spiraling thoughts. “What’s wrong?” Why did you run?”
Scrubbing away tears, she pushed herself off Caorainn’s neck and turned to see Tad standing at the entrance to the stall.
The concerned look on his face made her chest hurt. She longed to reach out to him, to find comfort in the circle of his arms, but she did not.
She could never seek love, tenderness, or solace there ever again.
“I’m sorry for my father’s rudeness,” Tad continued. He took a tentative step toward her. “He was even more obnoxious than I expected. Mind though … he bellows like a sea lion at times but will calm down eventually.” Tad broke off here, his gaze searching her face. “Will you not come inside … we can start again.”
Erea shook her head. “I’ll never go back in there, Tad … ever.”
His brow furrowed. “Why? I told you … father’s just—“
“You don’t understand,” she gasped. “Your father … he …” She could barely get the words out. With each breath, it felt as if an iron fist squeezed her heart.
“Erea …” Tad moved toward her, reaching for her. “I’m so sorry the bastard upset you. I won’t let him speak to you like that again.”
Erea shrank back from him, cowering against Caorainn’s side. Tad halted, his face tensing. “What have I done?”
“It’s not you,” she replied, clinging against the pony for support.
“What then? You stare at me as if I’m The Reaper.”
Tears flowed down Erea’s face as she looked up at him. “You can’t touch me, Tad.” She choked out the words. “We can never be together again.” She saw his look of utter confusion, before the words, the ugly truth, rushed out of her. “We are brother and sister.”
Tad jerked back as if she had just slapped him. A moment later though he shook his head, disbelief flooding his features. “That’s ridiculous—we are not.”
“My mother only spoke to me once about my father,” Erea countered, ignoring his denial. She too did not want this to be true. “She said he was a great warrior—a man with scars and a serpent tattoo wrapped around his right forearm. A man with blue eyes. When I saw Fortrenn, I knew.”
She watched the blood drain from Tad’s face. He took a step back from her, and the gulf of icy air that blew in between them made Erea swallow a sob.
It was done—now Tad knew the truth too. The precious bond that had just forged between them shattered.
Brother and sister.
It was sickening to contemplate—especially after what they had shared.
Bile rose in Erea’s throat, and she swallowed.
The Hag curse us … what have we done?
“This can’t be the truth,” Tad whispered. His voice held a rasp as the full implication of what Erea had just told him took. “I won’t accept it.”
Erea merely stared at him and shook her head. Denial would only make this situation worse.
Tad’s mouth thinned. “Wait here, Erea. Stay with Caorainn. I will go and speak to my father.”
Hysteria bubbled up within Erea. “And what if he denies it? Men lie, Tad. He won’t want you and your mother knowing that he plowed ‘the witch woman’. That explains why he cast her from Dun Grianan; she never had anything to do with those children’s deaths.”
Tad shook his head, stubborn now. “I won’t believe it till I hear the words from him. Stay here—I won’t be long.”
And with that he turned, his fur mantle swishing, and strode away from her.
Erea watched him go, noting the rigid set of his shoulders and the way he bowed his head. He might need further proof, but she did not; she already had all the evidence she needed. The missing pieces of the puzzle all slid into place. She now knew why her mother had been secretive all these years.
She had not wanted Erea to know that she was the daughter of the Stag chieftain.
Tad disappeared from sight, and Erea sagged against the pony, burying her wet face against him.
What a mess.
She could not stay here, could not bear to see the horror on Tad’s face after he had spoken to his father and confirmed the truth. She could not bear to see the revulsion on his face—the same horror that made her own belly roil.
I have to go.
Erea pushed herself off Caorainn, and the pony snorted, stomping a heavy feathered foot. She then turned and retrieved his saddle from where it sat perched on the wooden division between two stalls. She had no idea how to saddle a pony—and had not paid much attention when she had watched Tad do so.
However, she had to learn quickly now. Tad would return soon, and she wanted to be well away from Dun Grianan when he did.
Tad re-entered the broch, hands clenched by his sides, and strode through the midst of the folk taking their seats for the Mid-Winter Fire Eve feast.
The cheery notes of a harp stopped as he crossed the floor, and heads swiveled, tracking his progress.
Tad ignored them all.
His gaze was fixed upon this father, who was in the process of downing a horn of mead.
Fortrenn did not see his son approach, yet Colene did. His mother went still, her gaze narrowing.
His father lowered the drinking horn and passed it to Bevan, before he wiped his mouth with his forearm. Then he belched.
“So, you’re back again—and without that witch’s whelp this time,” he greeted Tad. “Scared her off, did I?”
Tad ignored the question. He wanted to leap up onto the platform and flatten his father’s nose with his fist. He would not bandy words now. It was taking all his self-control to hold onto his temper as it was.
Erea had to be wrong—they could not be siblings.
He met his father’s eye and suppressed a shudder. If she was right, then both their lives were ruined.
“Erea took fright,” Tad said, his voice carrying over the now silent hall. His gaze traveled down to the serpent that curled its way lazily up his father’s arm. He’d had the tattoo for as long as Tad could remember—it was a symbol of rebirth or awakening among their people. For the first time, Tad studied the marking closely.
“Skittish wee bitch,” Fortrenn replied with a smirk. “Is that the kind of woman you like, son?”
“She left because she was upset. She thinks you are her father.”
The smirk froze on Fortrenn’s rugged face.
Around them Tad heard muffled gasps, whispered oaths. Next to Fortrenn, Colene went rigid, her eyes widening.
Fortrenn was the first to recover. “Well, she’s wrong. I never touched her mother.”
Tad leaned forward, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side. “Erea believes differently. A blue eyed warrior sired her. A man with a scarred face and the mark of the serpent up his right forearm.”
Tad stared at his father’s shocked face, his stomach twisting as all arrogance drained from Fortrenn’s eyes. The Reaper take me … tell me it’s not the truth.
Ignoring the roaring in his ears and the cold sweat that now sprang up across his skin, Tad took a menacing step toward his father. Anger rose in a red haze, as did the desire to pummel Fortrenn’s face into a bloody pulp.
When he spoke, Tad’s voice came out in a low growl. “So, tell me, father—does Erea lie?”