with me this entire afternoon. If you’ve acknowledged me at all.”
“Ye did almost get me killed. Twice in the space of an hour, which is a feat, even for a Banshee,” he replied archly.
“That’s not why you’ve been insufferable, and we both know it,” she sneered.
“I’ve lived in solitude for a hundred years.” He crossed large, defensive arms over his broad chest and Kylah had to force herself not to remember what that chest looked like without the robes. “Ye canna invade every moment of my life, demand every detail of my history, and uncover all my secrets expecting me to like it.”
Anger covered the flash of hurt and truth in his words. “Well, Daroch McLeod, if you want your solitude so badly you may have it. I will not venture into that room. You’re safe from my odious presence there, so do what you will.”
Were she not in such a temper, she’d have found his expression of absolute befuddlement endearing. He looked behind him into the forge room, then back at her. “Why doona ye go in there? Because it’s where yer father—”
“It has nothing to do with my father!” she exploded, her glow pulsing further into the waning twilight.
“Then, why—”
“You don’t get to ask why! That’s my question.” At this point, Kylah realized she was being childish and ridiculous. But she’d never in her life lost her temper. She’d never felt this kind of organic, indignant anger before. Never had a deserving outlet for it. And since the horrible day she died, she’d only ever lurked in her corner, staring at that damnable forge, reliving the horrors that befell her there.
Every memory created by a loving man and father in that room had been defiled, replaced by the image of another man’s hatred. His domination. His sweat. Her pain. Her blood. Screams. Flames.
“Keep your secrets, Daroch McLeod.” A tear snaked from Kylah’s eye and burned its way down her cheek. “And I’ll keep mine.”
She’d vanished again. The evening seemed darker without her, and not just for the absence of her ever-present glow. Daroch inspected the ruins of the quaint washhouse with renewed intent. What would keep her from entering the forge? What harm could befall her there?
The living structure just off the business had been made of wood rather than stone, so only the blackened outlines of two bedrooms and the cook hearth of a kitchen remained. They told Daroch nothing, except that if anyone had been trapped there, they’d have perished.
Beneath a mulberry bush, a stone cross and two small wooden ones were lined neatly by the pond. Perhaps his wee Banshee was buried there. His nose pricked to the smell of the heather blooms mixing with the mulberry as he made his way to the tiny, well-kept graveyard.
He ran a finger across the stone engraving of Diarmudh MacKay. His cross was done in the olde way. Not to symbolize the Christian sacrifice, but in the way of the Druids, symbolizing the great balance of science and magic. Of earth and the sky. The body and the soul. Man and woman. Life and death. Twined together with sacred, eternal knots.
Sinking onto his haunches, he found the next two graves to be small, shallow, and relatively fresh, only recently overtaken by moss and grass. The markers were rough hewn and wooden. They read Katriona MacKay and Kamdyn MacKay in shaky, hand-carved script. The graves were small enough for young children.
Only their bones rested here. Daroch shook his head. That must have been all that was left after the fire. He stood and scanned the outlying area, capturing each detail in its entirety.
What about Kylah’s bones? Where did they rest?
His gaze landed back on the ruins and a cold spear pierced his chest.
He knew exactly where they were.
Returning to the entry, Daroch studied what used to be the washhouse. The patterns in the char along the walls and floor implied fire accelerant of some kind. Not pitch, so likely alcohol based. He could mark where the large wooden tubs had stood and noted the metal remains of various tools and instruments of their trade strewn every which way among the ashes.
As though they’d been upended and tossed in violent chaos.
Violent enough to spawn the creation of three Banshees.
Heart accelerating, Daroch’s eyes flew to the ruined archway and the forge beyond. His boots sounded very loud as they disturbed the ashes, creating the echoes of a ghastly, unspeakable horror. By the time he reached the forge, his breath sawed out