The Moon Tartan: Quest of the Five Clans by Raymond St. Elmo

Author:Raymond St. Elmo [St. Elmo, Raymond]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-12-31T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

Of Keys in Storms

“Honeymoon,” I whispered into Lalena’s ear. “Bed.” I traveled a finger across her temple, down the white, white path of her neck.

She closed eyes, shivered and whispered low “go away.” The rest of the conference table grinned, frowned, or glanced away as prurience or politeness so moved their souls. I tried again, tracing the curve of my bride’s ear with a whisper of breath. “Bed,” I muttered. “Us.”

Again that shiver, again that denial of desire. “Rayne Gray, can you not leave a body in peace?”

I leaned back in my chair. Fine. I didn’t want to go to bed anyway. I considered my wife with cold eyes, recalling how only days past she’d been a mad thing for coupling. She’d craved my touch. Also my blood, somewhat. Though no serious attempts to drink it since the wedding night. A few nips, no more. But now? Ha. I might lay myself beside her naked, a scratch across my jugular perfuming the bedroom with salt red seduction. And she’d lie a’back to pillows, peering at bills of lading, letters of credit, muttering of excise taxes. Else turn to me and ask my opinion of some lunatic tribe of relatives I had no knowledge of, no interest in.

“Let us say it clear,” declared the Laird of the Mac Mur. The sea-people, if you grow lost among the names. And really, why not just designate each tribe by their medium of life and love? The Beast-clan, the Sea-clan, the Blood-clan, and all the other mad collections. Scales and Harlequins and Clockmakers. I wondered about that last. But names are only of use when designating peoples with no more separation among the globe’s crowds than a label. For the family, such need counted naught.

“Let us say it clear,” declared the Laird of the Sea-people. “Shall Ranulf Howl Mac Tier take his father’s place as Laird? The Moon Tartan are become a danger to themselves, and to all the family. They must have a leader. Someone of strength who can repair the evils done by the former laird.”

“You would see the son who slew the father, become chief of the Mac Tier?” asked Lalena. “How shall that stay any thirst for violence?”

The Sea-clan Chieftain sighed. “Hardly the first laird to do so. And what young Howl did deserves no shaming. The Old Wolf came here bent on murder.”

“You speak ill of the dead,” interrupted the Jackal-Head. “You insult those who saw in him exactly the strength you say now is needed. You speak of madness. But the curse of kin-strife and death-love is rife through all the clans. And all the races of mankind besides. We Mac Tier do but make ourselves strong, that we might oppose the madness within and without.”

“You came with a prison-hold of common-blooded crofters,” spat Billy River. “You treated the creatures like cattle, and sought to buy our favor with their blood.”

“You are Sanglair!” shouted the Jackal-Head. “Children of the cold brides. You drink life. If you now

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