The autumn breeze is cold against my cheeks, but the sun is warm against my face. I lift my head to the sky, eyes closed, feeling the kiss of the outdoors on my skin. I take a deep breath, and taste dried grass, morning dew, and the musky tang of livestock on the air.
My sense of smell has never been more heightened.
I guess living in an underground room with nothing but the stench of your own filth really amplifies what you notice on the outside.
"It is good to see you smile."
Calum's voice yanks me back to reality and reminds me that while I have some semblance of freedom, I am nonetheless still a captive. The smile I hadn't even been aware I was wearing slips from my face.
"The Grandmothers wish to speak with you," he says, I assume to fill the uncomfortable silence that settles between us.
I blink.
"Your grandmas?"
What kind of sick family is this man from? Maybe he's not a bad guy- maybe he's just the victim of some sort of generational cult.
He chuckles, and shakes his head. "I forget- things are different in the Americas. You have an elected president at the head of your government, with a team of appointed advisors behind him, yes?"
When I nod, he smiles.
"Good. I'm glad there are some similarities between our worlds. The way the Sagwu-Dhaoine operate is somewhat similar. The Righ is a hereditary position, and his advisors are the grandmothers of the clans."
"The Righ?"
"The closest translation would be King, I believe, but it is not quite the same. I do not wield the same sort of power as a King of England."
I startle to a stop, staring at him, my mouth agape.
"You're telling me that you're the king."
Okay. It's worse than I thought. He's not just a crazy person. He's a crazy person with delusions of grandeur.
He shakes his head. "Not a King. A Righ. A King answers to no one. I answer to the Council of Grandmothers, and the Lairds of the Clans serve as checks and balances to my power."
His fantasy has depth and complexity, I'll give him that.
"If you're the... Righ.." I struggle to imitate the slight growl at the end of the word and am only mildly successful, "Why would you need me to solve your wife's- mate's- murder? Couldn't you just order the police to only focus on that case?"
He eyes me. "What are police?"
I give him a sidelong look, trying to gauge whether he is truly ignorant, or if he is pretending not to know. He looks genuinely confused by the term.
"Um. Law enforcement? People who catch the bad guys and are supposed to keep us safe?" I try.
"Ah. Constables and watchmen," he returns with a nod of understanding. He steps forward along the unpaved road. He takes a few more steps, and it suddenly hits me- he is not watching me. I could run, and I could disappear into the tree line.
I hesitate, considering the odds of a successful escape. My heart sinks when he turns back to me, a brow quirked. I let out a breath and fall in step beside him.
"Ceallach loved nature," he says, after a moment, seemingly ignoring my question about police. I clench my palms into fists, cursing myself for my moment of hesitation, for not running when I had the chance.
"She loved her canoe- she carved it herself. It took her months..." he trails off, a wistful smile on his face. "Before you, I never had any reason to believe there was foul play. Her canoe was found dashed against the rocks of the Nantahala, and her body was never recovered. She disappeared three years ago... there will be no evidence for the constables to find."
There is a raw agony his voice, turning his words hoarse. He wears his emotion without shame. In spite of that, I find myself wondering if he had taken Ceallach as Master had taken me. If she had been claimed, and then disposed of, when she no longer suited his mate fantasy.
I swallow hard, and decide to play along.
"So, if the constables can't help, what do you expect me to be able to do?"
He sighs. "You walk in her skin. Whoever murdered her will likely target you as well. Her killer will reveal himself to you, in time."
"You want me to be bait."
"I want to keep you safe."
"By making me bait for a murderer," I deadpan.
He pauses for a long moment, considering how to respond. "I will be beside you every step of the way," he settles on.
So in his fantasy, not only am I bound to him by some mystic force, I'm also completely reliant on him for my survival. Par the course for an emotional abuser.
I say nothing. Instead, I turn my face to the rolling green fields, studded with large bales of hay and the cottony tufts of grazing sheep. I wonder where exactly we are. The area looks like any rural countryside town I've driven through in the Bible Belt. The hazy blue mountains rising against the horizon place us somewhere in Appalachia, but Appalachia is a huge region. We could be in Georgia, either of the Carolinas, or Tennessee, for all I know.
I ache for Raleigh.
I think of the craft breweries I'd gone to with friends, the Sunday dinners at Mama's house- my plate piled high with fried chicken and collard greens and mashed potatoes. On cue, my stomach grumbles.
Calum glances down at his watch and then back toward me. "It's about time for lunch. Would you like to go into town to find something to eat, or back to the house?"
My throat goes dry at the thought of the sheer number of people in a town. The police that are guaranteed to be there. Freedom.
"Town," I croak.
"Alright," he replies with an easy smile. "Do you know how to ride?"
"Um, ride what?" I glance over him- his massive, well built frame, the denim jeans and light-colored, tasseled leather jacket he wears. "A motorcycle?"
"A horse," he corrects.
I blink.
"Yeah, I can ride."
His smile widens. "Let us head to the stables, then."
I follow him up the dirt path, my thighs beginning to burn with the incline of the walk. It has been so long since I had the freedom to roam beyond an eight by eight square of windowless space. I'm woefully out of shape. Soon, though, I see a large, stone structure looming ahead of us as we reach the crest of a hill. A stone and mortar wall encloses a wide swath of pasture, and I can see a few horses peacefully grazing, their tails twitching in the cool breeze.
I try to disguise my huffing and puffing as we approach the building, but I know I'm failing. The scarf around my neck is entirely too warm, and sweat beads against my brow.
"Kana'ti!" Calum calls out, his voice friendly.
A man in his upper middle-aged years appears at the doorway, his dark face creased into a warm smile. Like Calum, he wears his hair- a deep auburn color rare to find with his skin tone, streaked through with gray- long. I finger my own curls- a dark red-gold most people question is natural at first glance, given the deep tan of my own skin.
"Uku!" he greets with a respectful dip of his head.
It is rare to see someone with coloring like mine. I wonder if we have the same ancestry- an eighth Cherokee, and the rest of Scottish descent.
Kana'ti's smile falls, however, as he glances from Calum to me and his dark eyes take me in. His face goes ashen, and he swings his wide-eyed gaze back to Calum.
He says something in that strange language I had heard in the healing hut. The shock and dismay in his tone are evident. And, strangely enough, I hear fear as well. He trails off, and then stares at me again.
I shift, uncomfortable under the intensity of his gaze, and Calum steps forward, blocking me from view. He murmurs a few things into the man's ear, too low for me to hear, and the man's face loses a bit of its ashen tone.
"Apologies for any disrespect, my Bhanrigh," he says, in English so heavily accented I can barely make out their meaning, looking at me and then giving me a respectful dip of his head that looks much more formal than what he had given Calum.
"Bhanrigh?" I repeat.
"Queen," Calum translates, and I shake my head.
"I... I think there's been some mistake."
The middle aged man's gaze darts between the two of us, nervous. I can taste the sharp scent of anxiety on the air.
Calum's smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, this time. "You are correct- you will not be recognized as Bhanrigh until our mate bond is fulfilled. A skin-walker would be able to tell that we are not yet scent-marked, but Kana'ti is not a shifter. It was an honest mistake, on his part."
Calum murmurs something in that strange language again, and then Kana'ti nods and disappears within the stables. I hear a whinny, and the clip-clop-clop of hooves against cobblestone.
"We hire non-shifters to work with our livestock and horses. The animals are... sensitive... around us. They can sense that we are predators. We need to take more time to build trust with prey animals than non-shifters do."
He must misinterpret the wary glance I dart his way, because he hastens to assure me, "Don't worry. I told Kana'ti to bring you Adaira to ride. She is a gentle mare- the one we usually lend to children."
"Uh-huh," I reply.
My stomach rumbles again in the awkward silence that follows, and I press my fist against it. The traitorous thing should be so used to being empty by now that it knows to suffer in silence.
The clip-clop of horses' hooves grow closer, and when I glance up, Kana'ti has reappeared, the reins of the creature that must have been selected for me in his right hand. She is on the smaller side, a deep brownish-red, and moves with a slow, gentle, plodding gait. I recognize her as the kind of horse my friends at the stables would assign to the youngest of riders- the sort of horse you can't coax into a gallop no matter how hard you try. I do my best to stifle my disappointment.
Calum's stallion, on the other hand, is a thing of beauty. He is spirited- grunting and prancing, tossing his black mane. Calum steps forward to the great beast and rests his forehead against that of the horse. The creature takes in a deep breath and lets out a low whinny, before leaning his massive head forward against Calum's. Then, after a moment, the stallion draws back and begins nipping at Calum's hands in search of a treat. Calum chuckles- the sound gravel and velvet warmth, and pats the horse's neck as he speaks to him in that foreign tongue.
I am struck by the muscles that ripple beneath the horse's gleaming, painted hide- white splattered with large splotches so deep a black they almost look blue in the stable's light. The stallion turns its magnificent head toward me, and I see that one of his eyes- the one on the white side of his face- is a crystalline shade of blue.
"He's spectacular," I breathe, and Calum's responding grin is full of pride.
Kana'ti hands me Adaira's reins, and to my surprise, the gentle-looking creature begins to back away once she catches my scent, tossing her head back and forth and stamping her feet.
"Hey, girl! Easy!" I say, reaching forward and grabbing at her bridle. I place a hand below her snout so she can acquaint herself with me, but she doesn't seem interested in the introduction. She lets out huffs of air, agitated, her eyes rolling toward Kana'ti, as if in search of rescue. "Easy, easy," I soothe, stroking my hand down the length of her nose.
It takes her a moment, but eventually, she settles.
"You did well," Calum says, and when I glance over to him, I see that he is sitting astride his horse- barebacked.
My mouth drops. I had assumed that Kana'ti had saddled Adaira first, and was going to prepare Calum's stallion for the ride once Adaira had been handed off to me. Yet here Calum sits, looking comfortable and confident, equipment-less, on his spirited steed.
"You're- how-"
"Incalatanga has a strong spirit. He tolerates the bridle, but draws the line at a saddle. I do not mind."
My mouth moves to try to shape the creature's name, but my tongue doesn't cooperate. In my head, I re-christen the horse, 'Tango.'
Kana'ti is at my side, again, a tanned hand resting against the mare's neck. "Do you need help up?" he asks, and I shake my head. I put my foot into the stirrup, grip the saddle's horn, and swing myself astride the small mare easily. I have not ridden in a while, but this part is muscle memory, at least. Adaira shifts her weight from foot to foot, and I sway, following her movements.
"Enjoy the ride, Uku," Kana'ti says with a dip of his head. He turns to me, and seems torn on what to say. He seems to settle on silence and a slight bow of his head.
As Adaira follows Tango down the dirt path- stubbornly refusing to move quickly enough for Calum and I to ride side-by-side, I find myself watching Calum's strong back. He looks like he is a part of his stallion- graceful, almost. A strange word to pair with such a large, powerful man.
And as I watch him, I find myself beginning to doubt my original assumption that he is just as much my captor as Master was.
And a small, very childish, very stupid part of me is beginning to wonder if there is a little bit of truth to this strange fantasy world he has concocted after all.