by Mac Flynn
"I am afraid that is my doing," Tristan admitted with a chuckle. "I had my steward inform my subjects that their taxes would be lessened for this year, and the next."
Laird Graham spat out his drink across the table. Duncan and Angus wiped the drink from their brows and glared at him. His fat, flabbergasted mouth opened as he whipped his head to Tristan.
"But I heard no such proclamation, my laird," Graham commented.
I noticed a dark shadow passed over Laird MacNaughton's face while Laird MacNaughton raised an eyebrow.
"I was informed of the change, and was returned a portion of my taxes," the old laird informed us.
"But what of me and my own?" Graham persisted.
Tristan leaned back in his high chair and smiled as he swished the contents of his drink. "Perhaps the news had not yet reached you," he suggested. "I will be sure to have my steward count out your taxes and return the appropriate amount." He stopped his swishing and his eyes hardened as they flickered up to Graham. "That is, if you spoke the truth about your crops and livestock."
"M-my laird, I do not understand what you mean," Graham protested.
Tristan sat up and placed his mug on the table. "I have been informed that the dowry meant for my father was very large, much larger than what you reported as your earnings this year," he explained.
"T-there must be some mistake, my laird. I will have my steward look into the matter at once as soon as I have returned," Graham promised.
Tristan smiled and bowed his head. "I would be glad for the amendment."
"But my laird, to return to the matter at hand that brings us all together," MacNaughton spoke up. "The people show no remorse for his death, and I see your lady and yourself are not attired in the appropriate clothes."
"What is appropriate is a matter for me to decide, my dear laird," Tristan argued. His voice was low and dangerous, and a palpable tension arose from those at the table. "As for my subjects, they haven't time to mourn when the harvest must be brought in and taxes be paid. Let me finish with the comment that my father died at a very inopportune time for mourning, and we will bury him tomorrow and begin life anew."
MacNaughton bowed his head. "As you see fit, my laird."
Tristan straightened in his chair and shook his head. "I apologize, my dear laird. Arguing on the eve of my father's funeral is no way to honor his memory. We shall have a toast." He raised his mug and everyone followed suite. "To my father, a man who knew what he desired and had the iron will to take it."
"Here, here," those present murmured.
The drinks were downed and Duncan knocked his mug hard against the wooden table. "But what of yourself, Laird Campbell? Where have you been hiding these seven years?"
"Let us say I was detained by fate, but had ample time to consider my future," Tristan answered.
Duncan laughed. "You make sound as though you were a captive of some pirate or the sort."
"Or the sort," Tristan agreed.
"And what future plans do you have, my laird?" MacNaughton asked him.
"That would depend on what topic you speak," my laird returned.
"I have heard say you have ambitions that involve the Menzies clan," he specified.
"You have very good hearing, my laird," Tristan complimented him. "As a matter of fact I do have plans for them, and thought perhaps some of you would be game for a little war."
The old Laird MacLaren closed his eyes and shook his head. "War is no game, my laird."
Tristan bowed his head. "I stand corrected, my laird. I meant I thought to ask if any of my vassals would wish to join me in ridding ourselves of a common and very old problem."
"You would give us a choice, my laird?" Graham spoke up.
"Volunteers are easier to manage and cheaper than mercenaries, my dear laird," Tristan schooled him.
"For what motive do you start such a campaign?" MacLaren spoke up. He raised his aged and weathered face to Tristan. "For what end would you sacrifice the lives of our people?"
Tristan smiled and shook his head. "I mean to sacrifice no one. I am sure you heard of the recent raid against us by the Menzies clan." My laird cast his eyes to MacNaughton. "I believe they swept through your land to reach this valley."
MacNaughton pursed his lips, but bowed his head. "They did, my laird. I did not have the manpower nor the speed to halt their advance."
"And advance they did nearly to the heart of my rule in order to judge the strength of my resolve," Tristan informed our small group. A sly smile slipped onto his lips. "But god granted us a boon-his divine favor-and the day was won."
"So the stories are true. You did win without loss of a single man?" Angus asked him.
Tristan bowed his head. "Without a single loss, and with a good win of armor and some horses."
"But the grace of God is not to be tested in a war, my laird," MacLaren scolded him.
Tristan stood and paced the floor behind our chairs. "Very true, my laird, but what if I were to assure you that the grace of god would never leave us. What would you say to that?"
MacNaughton scoffed. "I would say you were mad."
"This is blasphemy speaking of it," Graham agreed.
"I find my cousin's idea very intriguing," Seumas spoke up. He leaned on the table towards Tristan and smiled at my laird. "How could you ensure this?"
Tristan stopped his pacing and gestured to me. "Through my lovely bride."
CHAPTER 31
All eyes turned to me, and I shrank from the attention. Some gazes were merely curious, like those from the brothers, but others were darker. MacNaughton and Lady Annabel showed no kindness in their faces.
Graham loosed a guffaw. "She, my laird? Your former servant?"
A dark look passed over Tristan's face. "She is my bride now, and I will hear nothing more of her former position," he warned Graham.
Graham hurriedly bowed his head. "Of course, my laird. I meant no offense."
"I must agree with Laird Graham that this is highly unusual," MacNaughton spoke up. He leaned forward and his dark eyes fell on me with disbelief and not a little disdain now that my former position was known. "We are to rely on a maiden for God's grace? Is she even fit for battle?"
"Through god's grace she will have no need of battle. The day will be won through divine intervention," Tristan argued. He walked over to the hearth with its great fire and looked into the flames. A sly smile danced across his lips and the edges of his face were thrown into shadow. "But perhaps you would like a demonstration."
Those in audience straightened in their chairs and some clutched at the edge of the table.
"Here? This moment?" Graham sputtered.
Tristan bowed his head. "This very spot and moment," he confirmed.
"This is no battlefield, my laird," MacLaren wisely pointed out.
"And none of us would dare call upon God's majesty for a show," MacNaughton added.
"And so I shall not perform a show, but a miracle," Tristan told them. He turned his attention to me and stretched out one hand. "Come to me, my lady."
Everyone's attention returned to me as I reluctantly pushed my chair back and stood. I walked over to Tristan and set my hand on his palm. He pulled me so I stood before him with our sides to the fire, and smiled down at me.
"Faith, my goddess," he whispered so that none could overhear.
I managed a smile in return. "As you wish, my laird."
Tristan turned to the attentive audience. "I do not know if you have heard of the fog that swallowed my enemies and killed or scattered them to the far winds."
"Aye, my laird, we have," Duncan answered.
"Fog is water. Now we will show you the power of fire," my laird told them. He turned back to me and grasped my hands in both of his. His voice was so low even I could barely hear the words. "Now pray, my lovely goddess, that fire shall protect us."
"But-"
"Have faith, my goddess, and focus on a flame in your mind," he insisted.
I gave a nod
and closed my eyes. My thoughts focused on the image of a single flickering flame. I imagined its red and orange colors, its lengthy, sensual body, and its blistering heat.
A light penetrated my eyelids and I opened them to behold a swirl of fire float from the hearth. The tendril wrapped itself around us to within a foot of our bodies, and as it reached its own trunk it stretched to the floor and ceiling. Soon we were enveloped in a swirling column of fire, and yet we lived. The heat was comfortable, and the flames did not throw sparks at us. There was a dull roar from the flames, but not so much that we could not hear one another.
I glanced left and right at the extraordinary sight and my eyes fell on the smiling face of my laird.
"How?" I asked him.
"You, my goddess," he replied.
He turned his head and I followed his gaze. We could just make out our guests. The women were crowded around the far end of the table, and I noticed at the far back of the room was Aili, Mary, and some of the other staff. The men stood at the other and ten feet away from us. Duncan and Angus were the closest. They stood eight feet from us with their arms over their eyes and their bodies leaned away from the fire. I saw their lips move and heard a whisper of their shouts above the roar that sounded outside the column.
"It seems my old friends are concerned about our safety. We shouldn't keep them in such terrible suspense any longer," Tristan told me.
I looked to him and blinked. "But I do not know how to stop this."
He nodded at the wall of fire between his friends and us. "Touch it, and see."
My eyes widened. "But it will burn me!"
He chuckled. "Is your faith lost again, my goddess?"
I pursed my lips, but pulled one of my hands from his. I reached out with my trembling hand to the wall of fire. The heat remained comfortable and no heat singed my fingers as they came into contact with the wall. On the contrary, the column of fire opened a hole for my hand. The hole widened and spread over the entirety of the column until the fire was completely extinguished. The final rope of flame retreated back into the hearth, and we stood as we had before the miracle.
Our guests stood still with their mouths agape and their eyes as wide as saucers. The servants, with Leod now in attendance, were horrified and many had their hands covered over their mouths. Duncan was the first to recover, and he took a step towards us.
"You. . .you are alive?" he asked us.
Tristan released my last hand and walked over to grasp Duncan's hand, which he shook. "Can a ghost shake hands?" he teased.
MacNaughton stumbled back into the end of the table. Goblets tumbled over and the whole of the table shifted. "Blasphemy!" he cried out.
Tristan looked past Duncan and glared at the father. "Nothing is blasphemy if it is a gift from god," he objected.
"My laird, I understand you have feelings for this young woman, but this is a clear sign of witchcraft," MacNaughton insisted.
While the pair argued MacLaren sat at the last chair on one side of the table, behind him stood his pale wife. His keen old eyes studied me from beneath his bushy eyebrows.
"How did you come upon this gift, my lady?" he asked me.
I bowed and shook my head. "I-I do not know, my laird."
"God cannot be called upon to do tricks, and nothing but witchcraft can mimic the wonders of God," MacNaughton insisted.
"It is very interesting, and might be useful," Seumas spoke up.
MacNaughton whipped his head to his permanent guest and his eyes narrowed. Seumas stood beside him with his chin cupped in one hand. "Has she bewitched you as well as our laird?"
Seumas closed his eyes and shrugged. "Perhaps, but I do not believe so. Rather, I can see the usefulness of her 'gift,' as Laird MacLaren calls it, as clearly as Laird Campbell. She asks God to control the elements and smite our enemies, or to prove to unbelievers that this is truly a gift from God."
MacNaughton pursed his lips, and his eyes flickered to me. "Then it is a wonder to behold that God graces a woman found by our laird in his very home."
"God works in mysterious ways," Tristan countered.
MacNaughton turned to Tristan and bowed to him. "Forgive me, my laird, for believing ill of your bride. She is a most innocent child of God who has our Laird's ear."
Tristan walked over to me and wrapped his arm around my waist. He pressed me close and smiled down at me. "Aye, she is a most wonderful woman."
"But my laird, if I might be bold enough to say, our enemies may come to the same erroneous conclusion as I and believe we are in league with the Evil One," MacNaughton pointed out.
Tristan chuckled. "And if they believe such lies?"
"They may band together to defeat us," he explained.
My laird smiled and shook his head. "They may band together, but who can defeat god? Who with blood on their hands can defeat an innocent?"
"Innocence is well and fine for a wedding bed, old friend, but it might not defend us from an army," Duncan commented.
Tristan clasped my hands in his and smiled at me. "This one will. I promise you," he insisted.
"My lairds, perhaps this would be better spoke in the light of day and not the heat of the night fire," Graham spoke up.
Tristan swept his eyes over our company and the servants who stood at the entrance to the kitchen. He sighed and bowed his head. "You speak some wisdom, my laird. I feel I must apologize for ruining supper with such a show, but I was eager to win your trust and your alliances."
"We are your vassals, my laird," MacNaughton reminded him.
Tristan bowed his head to the laird. "You are, but an oath of loyalty several generations old may be worn away by years. Enough, though, we shall have no more words spoken in so serious a manner. Let us return to our seats and feast well on the banquet provided by my servants." He glanced at Aili. "Bring in your wonderful pies, Aili! I long to taste their nectar!"
She smiled and curtsied to him. "As you wish, my laird."
Aili hurried the servants into the kitchen and we resumed our places at the table. The conversations resumed, but the words were emptier. I felt the strain as everyone was forced to avoid the topic that remained on their minds, that of my laird's promise of war. More than once I caught MacNaughton staring at me with knitted brows, and Seumas did the same but with a smile on his face.
I also noticed a change in the servants. They skirted away from me, and hurried threw filling my goblet after I had drained the contents. I smiled at them, but they averted their eyes and stepped back.
Tristan leaned over to me and laid his hand on mine which lay atop the table. "Heed it no mind, my love," he whispered.
I closed my eyes and nodded, but I felt as an outcast. I belonged in no world, or between them. The life of a servant lay behind me, but the life of a lady still lay far in front of me.
My laird pursed his lips and stood. The stifling conversations ended and everyone looked to him.
"The hour is late, and there is a heavy burden to perform on the morrow," he told his guests. "I suggest we turn in for the night."
"A good suggestion, as always, my laird," Graham patronized him.
Duncan walked up and set his hand on Tristan's shoulder. "Getting older, eh?" he teased my laird.
Tristan chuckled. "Something like that."
Duncan's eyes flickered from me to Tristan, and he winked. "Something indeed, but try to get some sleep."
The other guests passed us by and bowed their heads to Tristan.
"My laird," MacLaren spoke up. The elder laird had remained seated with his wife beside him. "I would like a word with you, if I may," he requested.
Tristan smiled and bowed his head before he and he resumed his seat. "I am always eager to hear your wisdom, Laird MacLaren. Tell me what you have to say, though I hope you will not mind my bride at this counsel."
MacLaren shook his head. "On the contrary, this concerns her, as well."
The tone of MacLaren's voice and his tense made my heart quicken, and I reluctantly
took my seat for the counsel.
CHAPTER 32
"Now what worries you, my loyal vassal?" Tristan asked him.
MacLaren nodded at me. "I am curious to know how she came to have such abilities."
Tristan smiled. "My laird, it comes from-" MacLaren raised one of his wizened hands and silenced my laird.
"I know it does not come from God, my laird, for I have seen such things in my long years," MacLaren informed him.
Tristan's smile slipped off his face and he raised an eyebrow. "Where?"
"Some years ago in the woods beyond the valley," he answered.
"Who else held the gift of god?" Tristan questioned him.
"It was a woman as lovely and innocent as your bride," MacLaren told him. The elderly laird set his eyes on me, and he nodded at the necklace I wore. "And she wore the same necklace."
Tristan slowly leaned across the table and looked into his vassal's eyes. MacLaren met his gaze with an unwavering one of his own.
"And what would you do with this information, my laird?" Tristan asked him.
Laird MacLaren closed his eyes and shook his head. "Not the evil to which you infer, my laird. I only wish to know the truth, and know that I am in the fullest confidence of my laird."
Tristan furrowed his brow and set himself against the back of his chair. He rubbed a finger across his lips in thought for a moment before he set both hands in his lap. "I have but one question to ask of you."
"If I am able," MacLaren replied.
"If you do not believe me when I say the gift is from god, then to what power do you attribute these miracles?" Tristan wondered.
The answer came not from the laird, but from his lady.
"To a power as old as the earth itself," Lady MacLaren told us. She raised her beautiful eyes and smiled at both my laird and myself. "It is a blessing, not a curse, to know the power that comes with this intimate knowledge, but it is also a great responsibility."
MacLaren leaned towards Tristan and studied my laird's face. "Do you set your power against the world for the sake of fighting and conquest, or for a higher purpose?"
Tristan straightened and spoke in a clear, firm voice as though he repeated an oath. "I set my power against the world to protect my people from these invaders, and if I need call upon the Devil than I would sacrifice my soul to him to protect those I hold dear."
