AT TWILIGHT BRENNUS carried Althea’s body up from the river and into Dun Mor. Behind him the clan herded their mounts and his to the stables Taran had rebuilt, where the Horse Master would see to watering and feeding them. He heard Cadeyrn issuing orders to the men to stand sentry and begin patrols. As tired and battered as they were, the clan made not a single complaint.

Inside the keepe Ruadri fetched a soft blanket and spread it over the table in his chamber, where Brennus stopped and looked down at his love’s pale face. The frost and ice on her skin and eyes had melted away in the river, but her body remained stiff and unyielding.

Brennus looked blankly at the shaman. “I left her gown at McAra’s.”

“Taran went to fetch it after…after the battle, and gave it to me.” Ruadri brought the emerald gown to the table. “Cadeyrn reports that the famhairean fled through a grove.” When Brennus didn’t reply, the shaman looked upon Althea for a long moment. “I’ll leave you with her, and see to the burial.”

Brennus nodded absently, and began unfastening her jacket.

Removing what she had brought with her from her time gave Brennus some comfort. She would go to her grave dressed as his lady wife. She became that the moment he tied his ring around her lovely neck. He would leave it with her, bury it with her, so that she remained his wife forever. Then he would have to find some reason to go on living.

There were many reasons, surely, but he could not recall one.

“I suspected they would see us coming for them,” he told her as he eased the gown over her fiery hair. “’Twas why I had the men tip their arrows with Pritani fire. To burn them out of their bodies, and drive them into the trees. They cannot move in new forms until they are carved.” He tugged the gown into place, and eased her over onto her side so he could tie the back laces. “’Twas meant to give us time to get you and the others out to the lochan.”

Once he had dressed her, he found a comb and tended to her hair. He could do nothing about the bruise on her face, or the blackening of her ears and fingers, but they mattered not. When he looked at her he saw only her beauty.

“We’ve no more time, my lady,” he said hoarsely. “I must part from you this day, and I cannae think of how I might.” His voice dropped low. “How may I carry you to your rest, when you go without me? You vowed you would stay, but no’ like this. How can you be gone from me?” He drew her up into his arms, and held her against him. “How could you die with words of love on your lips and no’ hear mine?” He whispered into her hair. “’Tis no’ what I wanted. I had so much to tell you.” His voice began to fail him. “So much.”

Brennus held her like that for a long while. Too long, but his men left him alone to be with her. When he finally carried her out he saw they had fashioned a burial platform for her. Flowers covered every inch of it, and his men stood waiting on either side, ready to help carry her.

“She’s mine,” he told them, and put her atop the flowers. He lifted the platform from its middle, and the men moved aside, following him out of the keepe and into the night.

His sentries stood to light the path with their torches, and he followed the flames to a sheltered place where the clan had gathered. Cadeyrn stood in the deep grave, and cursed under his breath with the last shovelfuls he tossed from it. Kanyth helped him out, and the War Master looked at Brennus and Althea with a rage so wretched it nearly matched his own.

He felt his arms tremble.

“Help me with her,” he asked his second.

Cadeyrn took the end of the platform with shaking hands. Then dozens of others joined his, and the clan took her from him. They brought the platform over to the edge of the grave, and flowers tumbled down into the hollowed earth.

“Wait,” Brennus said in a tight throat. He moved closer, and bent down to touch his quivering lips to hers. “I love you, my lady.”

A flicker of dark light passed over his face, and as he drew back he saw that the clan ring she wore glowed blue. He scowled at it. Surely it had caught the moonlight, yet in all the years he’d worn it he’d never seen the like. But the more he stared at it, the brighter it glowed. He reached for it.

“What manner of–”

A tremendous blast shattered the night and threw him back. He landed atop Cadeyrn, and scrambled up to see every other Skaraven knocked off their feet, dozens of feet from the grave. As he helped his second to stand, he looked past him—at what could not be.

He ran.

Althea sat up as Brennus reached her, and linked her hands around his neck. Once he snatched her off the platform and into his arms, she touched her lips to his, murmuring his name as part of the kiss. He jerked back to look all over her. The bruise on her face, the black ice burns, all had vanished. Her hair glowed like burning copper and hung down to her waist, and in the moonlight her skin glowed as if polished with pearls.

“My lady,” he murmured, when he could find his voice. He held her tightly, and covered the top of her head with kisses.

Cadeyrn shuffled over to them, staring without blinking, and then abruptly crumpled to the ground.

“Ruadri,” Brennus called out. “We need a shaman over here.”

The big man staggered to the War Master first. “He but fainted.” He took slower steps to approach Althea, and held up his hand between them as the ink on his forearms glowed a pale blue. “You arenae dead, my lady.”

“I’m not,” she agreed but blinked at him. “Why?”

He swallowed. “I feel what you are, but I cannae fathom it. ’Tis no’ possible without a druid spell of great power.”

Brennus reached out and grabbed the shaman’s arm. “Never tell me she’s awakened to immortality.” When Ruadri nodded slowly he released him and looked at his love. “You did this.”

“Maybe. I do have druid blood.” She showed him his clan ring. “And this.”

“We carved our clan rings from sacred oak, to protect us,” the shaman said. “Bren, we were wearing the rings when we were awakened. They still contain the magic of the spell. Giving yours to your lady did the same for her.”

The Skaraven began looking at each other with broad smiles.

“We didn’t get the others back, did we?” Althea asked Brennus, and sighed when he shook his head. “We can’t give up on them.”

“We willnae, my lady.” He pressed her slim hand over his heart. “We shall find them again, and rescue the ladies, and defeat the famhairean. I swear it.”

“Then I think I can marry you,” Althea said, and smiled at their clan. “It’s time things changed for the Skaraven. I’m going to be part of that now. That means this clan is no longer male-only.” She touched the ring again as she looked up at Brennus. “You don’t mind, do you Chieftain?”

She laughed as he scooped her up in his arms and carried her back toward their home.