His hands fisted. How could he have considered coming back here? But Jillian snuggled against him, seeking warmth, and he knew he would enter Tuluth willingly even if it were occupied by hordes of demons, to keep her safe and warm.
“Are you all right, Grimm?”
How typically Jillian, he marveled. Despite her own sickness, her concern was for him. “I’m fine. We’ll be warm soon, lass. Just rest.”
He sounded so worried that Jillian had to bite her tongue to prevent an instant confession from escaping.
“In just a moment you’ll be able to see where the village used to be,” he said, sorrow roughening his voice.
“I can’t imagine what it would be like to see Caithness destroyed. I didn’t mean to bring you back to a place that is so painful …”
“It happened many years ago. It’s almost as if it happened in another lifetime.”
Jillian sat up straight as they topped the crest and searched the landscape with curious eyes.
“There.” Grimm directed her attention to the cliff. “From the promontory the whole valley comes into view.” He smiled faintly. “I used to come up here and look out over the land, thinking that a lad had never been born luckier than I.”
Jillian winced. Occam moved forward, his gait steady. Jillian held her breath as they approached the edge.
“The caves lie behind us, beyond that tumble of stones where the slope of the mountain is steepest. My best friend Arron and I once vowed we would map out every tunnel, every chamber in that mountain, but the passages seemed to go on forever. We’d nearly mapped out a quarter of it before … before …”
Remorse for dragging him back to face his demons flooded her. “Was your friend killed in the battle?”
“Aye.”
“Was your da hurt in the battle?” she asked gently.
“He should have died,” Grimm said tightly. “The McKane buried a battle-ax in his chest clear to the hilt. It’s amazing he survived. For several years after, I assumed he had died.”
“And your mother?” she said in a whisper.
There was a silence, broken only by the sound of shale crushing beneath Occam’s hooves. “We’ll be able to see it any moment, lass.”
Jillian’s gaze fixed on the cliff’s edge where the rock terminated abruptly and became the horizon. Hundreds of feet down she would find the ashes of Tuluth. She drew herself up straighter, nearly tumbling from the horse in her anxiety, and braced herself for the grim scene.
“Hold, lass,” Grimm soothed as they took the last few steps to the cliff and gazed out over the lifeless valley.
For nearly five minutes he didn’t speak. Jillian wasn’t certain he breathed. On the other hand, she wasn’t certain she did either.
Below them, nestled around a crystalline river and several sparkling lochs, a vibrant city teemed with life, white huts washed to soft amber by the afternoon sun. Hundreds of homes dotted the valley in even rows along meticulously maintained roads. Smoke from cozy fires spiraled lazily from flues, and although she couldn’t hear the voices, she could see children running and playing. People walked up and down the roads where an occasional lamb or cow wandered. Two wolfhounds played in a small garden. Along the main roadway that ran down the center of the city, brilliantly colored banners waved and flapped in the breeze.
Astonished, she scanned the valley, following the river to the face of the mountain. It bubbled from an underground source at the mountain’s base, the castle towering in stone above it. Her hand flew to her lips to smother a cry of shock. This was not what she’d expected to see.
A bleak and dreary castle, he’d called it.
Nothing could have been further from the truth. Castle Maldebann was the most beautiful castle she’d ever laid eyes on. With its exquisitely carved towers and regal face, it looked as if it had been liberated from the mountain by the hammer and chisel of a visionary sculptor. Constructed of pale gray stone, it rose in mighty arches to a breathtaking height. The mountain effectively sealed the valley at that end and the castle sprawled along the entire width of the closure, wings stretching east and west from the castle proper.
Its mighty towers made Caithness look like a summer cottage—nay, like a child’s tree loft. No wonder Castle Maldebann had been the focus of an attack; it was an incredible, enviable stronghold. The guard walk at the top was dotted with dozens of uniformed figures. The entrance was visible beyond the portcullis and postern and soared nearly fifty feet. Brightly clad women dotted the lower walkways, scurrying to and fro with baskets and children.