by Carmen Caine
“That is absurd,” she scoffed.
“That is the truth, Shoney,” he sighed. “We must wait until after the war. I am sorry, lass. Now, enough of this,” he beseeched. “Please, come with me.”
He edged up the wooded slope, staying low to the ground. He glanced behind to see how she progressed, but she stood unmoving at the hill’s base.
“Are you coming?” he called.
“Ronan, I know every tree in this forest. There is naught for you to show me except a little understanding.”
He walked back down the slope and stood before her. Sweeping the Witch’s cloak off her shoulders, he stuffed it into his sporran. Her face was crimson with anger, and her gray eyes blazed, reminding him of a steel blade catching the sun’s fire.
“I have missed you every minute of every hour. I swear to you, Shoney. If I could have stolen away, then I would have, but I will not act rashly. There is far too much at stake to be reckless.”
He watched as a series of emotions seemed to dance across her face. Then her head hung for a moment as she stared at the ground. When her gaze met his again, he could see emotion still churning behind her stormy eyes.
“’Tis not easy being the one who is found wanting, Ronan, and although you say ‘tis just a matter of time, I feel in my heart that we want the impossible.”
He started to interrupt her, to deny her claim, but her hand silenced him.
“Please, Ronan, allow me to finish. I am proud of who I am. I am proud of the woman who mothered me. I do not wish to dishonor myself any further with this deception.”
“You speak against deception,” he interrupted, “but, Shoney, you and your family have been deceiving my clan for well over a century. Or need I remind you of the invented and fearsome Witch of Dervaig.”
“But that has been a necessary lie,” she snapped, “for our protection, our safe passage through this land.”
“Your protection is my one and only motivation for deceiving my family,” he replied.
“I believe nothing will be different when the war is over,” she said. Her shoulders stooped with dejection, and her eyes clouded with a shadow of pain. “’Tis impossible, Ronan,” she whispered.
“No, Shoney. Do not despair. I told you I will find a way.”
“I remember the madness that claimed poor Aidan when he thought he faced the real Witch. I will only ever be despised and feared.”
“But, Shoney, that same man greeted you with a smile just moments ago and even as we speak is keeping watch to ensure our secret is safe. If Aidan can be convinced then why not the rest of the MacKinnons,” he paused, taking a deep breath and then exhaled loudly, “but not now, not when war is so close at hand.”
She stared off into the distance for a moment, her face a mask guarding her thoughts. After a time she said, “You know the temper of your people far better than I, but I can make no promises to remain contented until after the war. I do not say this to be obstinate. I just do not want to make a promise I cannot be sure to keep”. She reached out and took his hand. “I do owe you an apology, however.”
“Whatever for?” he asked.
“I have been selfish today, drawing you into the woods. I allowed my temper to once again guide my actions.”
“A trait which you and I share,” he smiled.
“And yet, you came despite the personal risk. Why?” she whispered.
“Is it not obvious, Shoney,” he said. Then he pulled her to him and grazed his fingers across her cheek.
“I love you,” he whispered as his lips took claim over her mouth, kissing her deeply. When he pulled away, a wide smile lit her face. She laughed and started running up the hill.
“Where are you taking me,” she called down to where he stood.
He stared for a moment in awe of her strange beauty. Then he dashed up the hill, catching her hand. They ascended the remainder of the slope together.
“Is this safe, Ronan? Should I not return home now?”
“There is naught to worry about. Aidan will alert me if anyone ventures close.”
Her wide eyes were lit with pleasure, causing him to chuckle as he considered how just moments before her eyes had flashed hot with anger. He was once again the hero. Never would he have imagined a girl who could cause him so much agitation and at the same time so much pleasure. Her sharp tongue and stubborn ways pushed his patience to the limit, but her resilient spirit and fervor for life were intoxicating.
As they crested the top of the hill, he paused to take in the idyllic scene below. From all sides, the forest gradually sloped down and the trees thinned out as land met the waters of a small pond where dozens of small, black ducks swam.
“I saw them flying overhead in the direction of the forest this morning, and I knew they would come here to swim.”
“’Tis beautiful, Ronan. If only we could forget that a world existed beyond this splendor.” She chuckled as she continued, but her smile did not reach her eyes. “However, even Puffins do not allow the mind to forget the trials of life.”
He laughed, wrapping his arms around her. “Be patient, Shoney, and do not doubt me. I promise you I will find a way,” he vowed.
“When can we be together again?”
“Tomorrow,” he said. “Meet me under the lone tree that sits in the valley west of here.”
“I know the place, but do we not risk discovery?”
“Aidan will ensure our privacy. Meet me there in the morning. I will bring food and drink, and I promise you I will not leave your side until the next day.”
“No more promises, Ronan. If you do not make them, then they cannot be broken,” she frowned.
“Have faith in me, my love. This is one promise I know I can keep.”
Chapter 14
Shoney stretched her arms out, fanning her fingers wide. The leaves of the Hazel tree above were abundant and obscured the blue sky with green finery. She smiled at the shadows of leaves that littered her arms. Then her gaze returned to the man asleep with his head in her lap. A leaf shadow danced on his cheek, and she traced its outline with her finger, causing him to stir. He smiled but did not open his eyes.
“Your slightest touch has the power to soothe me to sleep like a babe,” he smiled.
Then he sprung to life and pulled her beneath him. “Or fill me with a fire that pulls me from my dreams,” his husky voice whispered.
She felt the muscled weight of him cover her as she breathed his scent and reveled in his strength. The day so far had been wonderful. She could not remember having ever been so content.
“I did not, my love, but graze your cheek,” she said.
Her finger traced a path down his neck as he lowered his lips to hers. She had expected his kiss to hold the demand of his body, but his lips only brushed hers, and then he froze as darkness crept into his eyes. She sensed he was searching for something. He seemed to be desperately trying to see into her mind, but what he sought, she could not say.
Could he still even now doubt she was real?
“You are indeed a sorceress,” his rasped, “for you muddle my mind and plague my body with insatiable need.”
She was breathless and lightheaded. “I am only a woman, Ronan. And need I remind you that it was you who taught me how it was between a man and a woman.
His eyes brightened as a slow smile curved his lips. “I believe ‘tis time for another lesson.”
He covered her mouth with the warmth of his kiss, and she finally felt the full force of his desire. His tongue stroked a languishing path through her mouth as his fingers dug into her hair. He pulled down, forcing her back to arch. His hands swept waves of heat over her body as he caressed her breasts through the fibers of her tunic, causing her to moan with pleasure.
Again he held himself aloft, resting his weight on his elbow. He thought his size too much for her small frame to handle, but she wanted to feel all of him. She tore at the skin of his back as she pressed their bodies closer. Then she seized his arm and pulled u
ntil it finally gave way, and his full weight slid over her. He groaned and his kiss intensified as if his last restraint, the last of his self-control were gone. His kiss stunned her by its overpowering force. His mouth and hands devoured her, and she returned every hunger-infused stroke as her fingers threaded through his thick hair, urging his tongue to plunge deeper. He yanked her tunic and kirtle until they were bunched at her waist. The warmth of the sun mingled with the heat of his hands, branding a pathway down her stomach to her thighs.
She trembled at his touch. Sensation overwhelmed her. He stroked her warmth, igniting fiery ripples of pleasure, which tantalized as she melted beneath his caress. Her hands rushed over his back, and she groaned as she felt his strength and heat.
“Ronan, I want you now,” she begged.
Suddenly, he swore and pulled away. Her eyes flew open, and she started to voice her protest, but her words were lost in folds of fabric as he pulled her tunic over her head.
He quickly unbelted his plaid, and then once more, his body covered hers. She shoved against his chest, and he rolled over. She followed, straddling his bronzed torso. Her lips and tongue enticed and tormented as she traveled across his rugged physique. His ragged breathing and groans of pleasure drove her wild as she explored and reveled in the salty taste of his skin and the allure of his musky scent. Then he swept her gently onto her back, and she strained to open herself to him. Her body ached to be filled, but he did not take his pleasure swiftly. He slowly pressed into her. With deliberate constraint he drove her to writhe beneath him. The exquisite ache intensified. It was too much to bear. She lifted her hips, pleading for relief as her body throbbed with need. Finally, he took her with the force she craved.
She was a windswept wave, charging toward shore. And as he drove deeper and deeper, the storm inside her body raged on until she suddenly seized, erupting with sensation that spread throughout her being like the broad fingers of lightening slashing through the sky.
But her cries of pleasure were silenced by the gentle din of an unwanted intruder.
The tolling of a bell came floating over the moors, cutting through her euphoria. With the peal of each passing chime, the reverberations of ecstasy coursing through her body were replaced with shutters of foreboding. The sound was so distant—barely audible—but its obtrusive meaning blasted in her ears.
Then it was no longer the sound of a bell at all but a chorus of voices chanting Witch, Witch, Witch in her mind as she was lost to a vision.
Ronan was once again walking away from her on the beach, only this time he did look back. With a cruel sneer twisting his features, he laughed and called her a whore.
She did not know herself as she succumbed to the doubt her vision implanted in her heart. She beat her fists against his chest and cried out, “You’re a bastard—a liar.”
“Shoney, what is the matter with you?” He lay atop her, pinning her arms above her head. Still, she continued to thrash and scream.
“Shoney, you are crazed. I cannot do this right now. Do you not hear the alarm?” he exclaimed as he jumped to his feet, looking in the direction of the village.
On her hands and knees, she grappled with her clothing. “The only alarm I hear is the one in my heart telling me you have no honor.”
“You speak of honor when my village may be under attack, and yet you would delay my return.”
“There will always be a bell or a council meeting,” she shouted. She felt her eyes fill with tears, but she did not care. She was tired of being tossed aside. She was tired of hiding.
“You are ashamed of me. If you truly loved me, you would fight for me, for us.”
“You doubt me even now?” he grabbed hold of her arms. “You will be my wife. You will bear my children.”
“You are lying to me and to yourself,” she cried.
“I should not have to keep defending my life to you. You know I have my duty.” She winced as his grip on her arms tightened. “What more do you want from me?” he scowled.
She reached for his hands and clutched them tightly. “I want you to aid your family and your people. I want you to ride hard and answer the call of the alarm, but take me with you.” She began to pull him in the direction of the village. “Come Ronan. Let us ride now, together.”
“No, Shoney, ‘tis too risky. The village may be under attack.”
“In case of an attack is why you should bring me now. Ronan, I can fight—you know my skill with a
bow.” But before she could finish her defense he interrupted.
“Never, Shoney. You will never fight. Perhaps you are right and at one time women were indeed warriors, but that time has long since passed.” He bent his head and brushed her lips with a kiss. Then he started toward his mount.
“Ronan,” she called after him.
He turned and faced her with fire in his eyes and said, “Enough, Shoney. I must go.” But she ran ahead and stood in front of him, blocking his path.
“I am a healer. Ronan, please take me with you. You will need my skill if any within your clan has suffered injury.” Her voice was pleading, and she hated the sound of it, but she was desperate to be included. He gave her no quarter as he grabbed her shoulders and lifted her out of the way.
“The bell rings, and I must answer its call. I will return to you this night, to this very place.” He cupped her face and kissed her slowly. “I will not fail you,” he whispered.
Then he was gone.
Chapter 15
From a distance, Ronan could see the village was not under attack. People were walking to and fro, going about their usual business. He even saw children at play. Everyone seemed oblivious to the constant clanging. Never had the bell been rung for so long. Urging his mount forward, he galloped into the village and did not wait for his horse to stop before he jumped down. He called out to all who stood by, “What danger is there?” but no one replied.
“What is the matter with everyone,” he growled. “Why does the bell toll?”
Argyle approached him and rested his frail hand on Ronan’s shoulder. “’Tis your mother, lad. She has taken ill with a mysterious malady. She is weak like one who has been sick for weeks or months.”
“You must be mistaken, Argyle, for I saw my mother two evenings past, and she was quite well.”
“I have seen her with my own eyes, lad. She is as I say. Morna does not know what ails her nor does Father Colin. She has been bled, but her condition seems grave.”
He could not believe his mother was as ill as Argyle described. Just the night before last at supper, she was laughing and calling out jests with their company. Argyle must be mistaken, but why would he lie? One thing he knew for certain was that he would never make sense of the matter with the endless ringing of the blasted bell.
His hands flew to his ears. “Damn it, why does that bell still ring?”
“Your father hopes the bell will draw the good Lord’s eyes so that he might look upon his daughter and heal her. The bell will ring until she is well again.”
Argyle’s words caused a shiver to creep down his spine. He knew his father would not have made such a command if his mother’s condition was not desperate. He looked imploringly to his old friend, expecting to receive some words of comfort—perhaps there was hope—but the old man only shook his head. He backed away from Argyle and then ran toward Dun Ara Castle. As he entered the small baily he saw Aidan.
“Ronan, at last, we have been scouring the moors and forest for you,” he said loudly. Then he spoke for Ronan’s ears alone, “What took you so long? Do you know how hard it was to secure your privacy in the midst of a search party?”
“I do not want to talk about that now. Tell me, Aidan, is my mother’s condition as Argyle described?”
“I am sorry, Ronan. She is lost to fever.” Ronan raced toward the keep as Aidan called after him, “Prepare yourself, my friend, she suffers.”
He rushed to the large doorway leading into the great hall. Then he sprinted up the stone stairs
, taking three at a time. Outside his parent’s rooms sat Father Colin. The priest rose. His short hair stood straight on end from his hands pulling on the red strands with worry. A fleeting look of relief passed over his thin face as he saw Ronan, but his expression soon settled back into grim lines.
“It is good that you have come, Ronan. Your father has wondered if your presence might help. Her condition is grave, my boy, but perhaps you might bring her some peace.”
Ronan was stunned by his first view of Anwen. He froze in the doorway as a great fear crept into his heart. His kinsmen had tried to warn him, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality of his mother’s body soaked with sweat and tears and writhing in agony on his parent’s bed. He looked to his father whose haggard appearance made him seem older than his forty-nine years.
Nathair had yet to notice Ronan’s arrival. He was kneeling beside his wife, trying to still her trembling form. Ronan heard his father’s soft whispers crooning to the woman he loved. As if sensing Ronan’s presence, Nathair’s head snapped toward the door. Ronan saw a steady flow of tears drip into the MacKinnon’s beard. He rushed to kneel beside his father.
“Look to our lady, to my Anwen. Look at what has become of her.” Ronan took hold of his mother’s hand.
“Mother, I am here now.” Her black hair, drenched with sweat, clung to hollow cheeks as pain stricken eyes sought his own.
“Nachlan, is that you,” she wheezed. “Nachlan, where have you been? I have waited supper for you.”
“Your son, Nachlan, cannot be here, mother. ‘Tis me, Ronan.”
“Who are you?” she cried. “Help me, Nachlan. Please help me. The pain is so great.”
A broad hand gripped Ronan’s shoulder. “She is lost to the fever, son. She does not know anyone. I was hoping…” Nathair choked on his words, letting them trail off.
His father had prayed for his swift return, believing Anwen could never forget her only living son. Ronan stood, filled with resolution.
