Tales of the Executioners

Chapter 2: Jamie - Blood of Betrayal, Part 2

"What do ye say?"

Jamie 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, sheshe said as much, said she knew how important the cause was ta ye, tata all of us, she knew ye were fighting' fer yer future. She didn'tShe tried ta hold on fer ye, but the feverwe 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 herIf 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.