In the Witching Hour

by Неизвестный

  "Dear wife, I think it’s best if you go first, should any accidents happen, which I’m sure won’t," he added quickly.

  Clutching her new satchel, Briana mounted the ladder and started climbing. Weylyn followed with his satchel and basket of food looped over his arm. Before he knew it, they made it to the top. He looked back down and saw--nothing! Emptiness. Blackness. It was as though the queen and her fairyland had never existed.

  Briana reached the opening and pushed at it. It drew back without a sound, and she pulled herself on up. Behind her, he joined her on the ground, back in Maith Fearann again. Together, they shoved the opening back, ensuring that it was locked in place. Home again! Back in Maith Fearann again! Holding Briana’s hand, he inhaled the sweet air of his country, his gaze taking in all the bushes and trees, the stones that surrounded them.

  "Gods, it’s good to be back, isn’t it, dearest?"

  "Ah, yes! Life was wonderful in Donoria, but I miss my village and Enid, everything in Lochlann.

  He stared up at the blue sky, the sun at its zenith, a cool, brisk wind tossing tree branches and molding their clothes to their bodies. Yet mixed emotions vexed him. So happy to be back, he knew not what punishment he and Briana might incur for failing to return for Samhain. Gods, he prayed, I will take whatever penalty the druids inflict, but please spare Briana any suffering.

  "Oh, look!" His gaze fell on his saddlebag and Briana’s satchel from days ago, before their entry into Donoria. Set back in the corner where they’d left the items, they’d missed seeing them at first.

  "Briana, my saddlebag, your satchel! I’d forgotten all about them." He knelt on the ground, where she joined him. Bafflement made his heart pound, his lips dry. Dust and dirt coated the bags, the leather of his saddlebag cracked and flaking, as if the objects had stood here for years.

  She opened her canvas bag, rummaging through her things. "Weylyn, what’s happened here?" The wool and linen clothes looked fairly intact, albeit quite wrinkled. But the cotton garments--she picked up the remains of her cottons, and the material crumbled in her hands. She threw him a puzzled glance, her mouth wide open, a look of dawning horror on her face.

  He dug through his saddlebag, found the iron restraints rusting, the rust coating his hands. He stood and looked around, his eyes covering the trees and bushes, everything that had looked so familiar a few minutes ago.

  "What has happened here?" he echoed. "Something ghastly!"

  * * * *

  Regan Mulhoney sat at her kitchen table, a cup of tea in her hand. She agonized, as he had every day for the past forty years, what had happened to Weylyn Quinn. And Briana Cashel, damn the bitch! She should have been sacrificed during Samhain, but somehow, some way, the wench escaped, and Weylyn with her. Doubtless they both lived in Magh Mell now, if they lived at all. The villagers who had traveled to that city and other cities and villages in the country had reported seeing nothing of them.

  Regan drained her teacup and thought of that Samhain forty years ago. When Weylyn failed to return, the druids had sent an enforcer to her house, to her, Regan! As if she would permit them to sacrifice her! Ah, she had a few tricks then, as she possessed a few tricks and spells now, perfected over the years. She closed her eyes, recalling that day, as though it were only yesterday.

  She’d been studying her book of magic to find a spell that would turn that stupid Maude Culihan into a toad. Maude had infuriated her then, threatening to report Regan to the druids for practicing black magic. Now Maude would get a taste of that very black magic and would never bother her again. Just when she found the spell, the door burst open.

  One of the druids’ enforcers grabbed her by the arm. "You! Come with me!"

  She clutched her stomach. Speechless, she could only stare at him, her mouth gone dry, her heart thudding. She found her voice. "Sir, what is this about?"

  "Briana Cashel has disappeared and Weylyn Quinn with her." He snorted. "Quinn was supposed to bring her back, but instead, he has escaped with her. Lovesick fool!"

  Regan’s heart still pounded, but her mind worked furiously as she delved into her brain for a spell. "So what has that to do with me? Good riddance to both of them!"

  He shook her arm. "You’re to take the Cashel girl’s place. You will be sacrificed in her stead."

  "Ah." Regan drew her power about her like a woolen cloak, well aware she could apply negative glamour.

  "Enough stalling. We must leave."

  "Sir, please wait a minute." Calling on all her power, she concentrated, pleased to see her long chestnut hair turn gray, her skin become spotted and wrinkled. She spoke in a crone’s voice as she cast her spell, so the enforcer would forget his mission, forget she had ever looked other than an old hag. "Sir, would you arrest a helpless old lady like me? For cursing the gods, did you say? Shame on you, sir. I doubt I would survive confinement in a cell." She brushed a tear from her eyes. "I fear I would die there!" she said on a sob.

  The enforcer backed away, a look of contrition on his face. "I apologize, ma’am. I believe I made mistake."

  "Yes, I believe you did."

  He left, still sputtering effusive apologies.

  Now back in the present, Regan giggled at the recollection. Forced to choose yet another, the druids had sacrificed a young girl, not yet sixteen if she was a day. And as for the spell she’d been studying at the time of the enforcer’s interruption, it worked--like a charm! Poor Maude Culihan transformed into a toad.

  But now ‘twas said that the new king of Maith Fearann wanted to end the sacrifice and find another way to appease the gods. Hah! Much good his efforts would do him in Lochlann, for although the old druids had died years ago, new ones had taken their place, as sternly uncompromising as the old ones. Everyone from forty years ago has died, Regan mused, not missing any of them, including that goody-goody Enid Connor. Enid had practiced strong magic, but Regan possessed spells Enid had never dreamed of. Foolish woman!

  Draining her teacup, Regan thought of that Samhain forty years ago. Another Samhain would arrive very soon, as it did year after year, each time sacrificing a young beautiful woman. I practiced negative glamour then, she mused, and that’s what I look like today. She studied her dried and wrinkled skin, its age spots, her hair grown brittle and gray. Ah, she could make herself look young again--nothing easier--but Weylyn was the only man she had ever cared about, and now he was gone from her forever. Why make herself look young again when no man was worth it?

  On a whim, she decided to peruse her tea leaves, a mystic activity she had not performed for the longest time. She swirled her cup three times, then upended the leaves in a saucer. In quiet concentration, she studied the tea leaves that remained in the cup, these representing the past. She saw barely discernible clues, ideas just out of reach--and a circle of stones. Turning to the leaves in the saucer, these representing the future, she stared at them in a state of near hypnotism.

  "Ah." She shook her head and sat back, unable to believe she’d read the leaves correctly. She looked at them again, a slow smile spreading across her face, then such a tremendous rush of joy she feared to accept what her eyes had revealed.

  Weylyn! I have waited for you all these years! Now I shall see you again.

  She disregarded her gray hair, her wrinkled skin, for she could still apply the glamour--a positive glamour this time. And yes, a spell to make him want her, lust after her. So what if that stupid bitch, Briana Cashel, accompanied him? Regan had plans for getting rid of that wench. Despite her skills in witchcraft, Regan knew her spells remained unpredictable, not always lasting as long as she wished. She realized it would be best to wait until she saw Weylyn again, time enough to practice her magic on him, to make herself look young again, and to make him want her as she desired him. Later, after she left him, she’d revert to her own self again. So skilled in the glamour, she could easily switch from old to young and back to her old body once more.

  She hurried to her bedchamber and discarded her gray woolen frock, t
hen reached for the emerald green dress from a wall peg, one that still fit well and accentuated her every curve, even after all this time. Grabbing her woolen cloak, she donned it, and then rushed outside to the cool autumn wind. Weylyn and the wench Briana would arrive in Lochlann within a day or two, she guessed from what she’d read in the leaves. No need to take food or change of clothing with her, because once she saw Weylyn again, she would have no other needs.

  * * * *

  Briana sat with Weylyn next to the stream while they finished their evening meal. Laurel bushes and evergreens surrounded them, a cold wind tossing branches. The first faint stars glowed in a sapphire sky--a full moon silvered the land. She munched on a lemon sugar cookie, then drank a ginger drink from her mug, letting the cool, spicy liquid soothe her parched throat. They still had many foods left that the fairies had thoughtfully packed for them, plenty to last them the rest of their journey. The fragrance of pines scented the woodlands, over laden with the smell of decomposing leaves and rain. She shivered and drew her cloak closer about her, for the night remained chill, the cold of the rocky ground seeping through her cotton dress.

  She set her mug down and looked at her husband. "Weylyn, I’ve been thinking...."

  "So have I." He stretched his leg out on the hard ground. "That’s all I’ve done since we arrived back in our own country." He winked. "Except making love to you." He grew serious again. "Too many unanswered questions."

  "Yes, that’s what I wanted to talk about. Surely there’s a logical reason for my crumbly cotton clothes, your rusty iron restraints."

  He drew both legs up, locking his hands around his knees. "Then share your reasons with me, for frankly, I’m at a loss to understand."

  "Well, you’ve noticed all the rain." She gestured toward the trees, still dripping moisture, and recalled a heavy rain earlier in the day, a cold downpour when they’d sheltered under an evergreen and still suffered wet, clinging clothes that only now were beginning to dry. "No doubt moisture seeped into your saddlebag and rusted those restraints."

  "And the dirt and dust on my saddlebag and your satchel?" He changed his position again. "How do you explain that?"

  "Easy enough." She changed her position, too, her muscles sore after their long trek through the rocky hills. "No doubt a strong wind blew dirt and dust on them."

  "But the rain would wash that away."

  He had her there, but she rallied. "Bright sunshine at the time of our return to the circle of stones. The sun dried out the dirt the winds had deposited."

  He chewed on a carrot and swallowed. "And your cottons?"

  "Ah, yes." She thought for a moment. "Old cottons, years old. You remember how easily my shift tore when you bound my sprained ankle."

  "Aye, like paper." He reached for a cookie from the basket. "Sweetheart, I’ll have to accept your explanation, for anything else is beyond belief." After he finished the cookie, he brushed his hand off then he, too, quaffed the sweet and spicy ginger drink. He smiled then, that intriguing smile she would never forget. Pushing the basket aside, he reached for her. "Enough talk about dirty satchels and crumbling cottons. Let’s do more than talk."

  Her breath quickened. Ah, she could never get her fill of him, this wonderful man she would live with and love for the rest of her life. She drew her dress and shift up and smiled in lush anticipation. "Show me what you want to do."

  * * * *

  The following morning, Weylyn awoke and sighed with happiness, remembering last night, a time of glorious lovemaking, a night that only strengthened the knowledge that he could never live without Briana, this one woman meant only for him. He gazed at her beautiful face while she still slept close to a laurel bush, her long blonde hair flowing over her shoulders, her soft curves and shapely limbs under her woolen cloak. He lay back and stared up at the sky, the early morning dawn that chased the stars away and colored the sky a lavender blue. Today they would reach Lochlann, home again!

  His thoughts turned serious. Today he must face the druids, must explain why he hadn’t returned with Briana in time for the sacrifice. Who had they killed in her place? he wondered yet again, a subject he and Briana had discussed only yesterday, for he knew it upset her that someone else had died in her place. His mouth tightened, his mind determined to convince the druids to outlaw this barbaric practice. But how could he persuade them, when no doubt they would arrest him for failing in his duty? And what would they do to Briana? Gods! They could escape yet--not too late to head for Magh Mell and lose themselves among its vast population.

  He took in his fill of her lovely face and decided to let her sleep a little longer. The gods knew she hadn’t slept much last night, he mused with a reminiscent smile. Too soon, they would both face the consequences of his failure. He tried not to think of the punishment for him and Briana, but fears haunted him, ‘til he could think of nothing else. Gods, he prayed, please protect her. She must not suffer for my failure.

  Needing to relieve himself, he headed for the copse of hemlocks down the rocky path, alongside the winding stream. Afterward, he knelt on the ground and drank from the stream, fresh water that eased his dry throat. Moisture still dripped from the trees and bushes, but the sky promised a day of sunshine, a day only slightly cool with a light breeze. He turned back to look at Briana, who still slept several yards away. She turned onto her side and he knew she would awaken soon. Ah, if only they lived in Magh Mell, if only they didn’t have to return. If only--

  "Weylyn!"

  He spun around and blinked his eyes, afraid his senses had left him. "Regan! What in the name of the gods are you doing here in the forest?" He spoke quietly, reluctant to wake Briana just yet. Regan, as beautiful as ever, but a sorceress, just the same.

  She shook her chestnut hair from her shoulders, the movement stretching the bodice of her green gown across her full breasts. She edged closer, a look of seduction on her face. "I had to see you, Weylyn. I’ve missed you so."

  "Missed me? I’ve been away only a few days." Or so he hoped. Any other explanation did not bear scrutiny.

  "A few days. Hmm." She frowned and then smiled a captivating smile that made him forget everything but the woman before him. Gods! She was lovely. Why had he never realized that before?

  She nodded toward Briana as a slow sun lightened the sky, turning Regan’s hair a flaming red and highlighting the ivory perfection of her alluring face. "Briana," she murmured. "Why did you marry that bitch?"

  He grimaced, a hundred regrets taunting him. "Sometimes I wonder. Ah, Regan, if only I had waited for you. It’s you I love, you I have always loved." He embraced her, thrilling to the pressure of her breasts against his chest. He wanted to make love to her now, his loins aching for her. "But what can I do now, with that wench as my wife?"

  She kissed him, a long, slow kiss that drove him to madness, then stepped back. "I’ll tell you what you can do. Turn her over to the druids when you reach Lochlann. She cheated them once before. You must not permit her to cheat them again."

  "I won’t." Hope burst within him. A chance remained for his happiness, his and Regan’s. As soon as we reach the village, I’ll lock her up, tell the druids she bewitched me. I was helpless under her power."

  "Dear Weylyn, I knew you’d think of something. They’ll burn her at the stake for beguiling you, for thwarting the will of the gods. Just think! We can watch as they light the fire." Her eyes gleamed. "Maybe they’ll let you light the fire."

  A twinge of conscience nagged him, for he would not wish that punishment on his worst enemy. Still, he would relinquish Briana to the druids and await their verdict, anything to have Regan. Then he and Regan could marry. Ah, such happiness they would have.

  She nodded in Briana’s direction again. "You hate her, don’t you?"

  "I loathe her!" He pulled Regan into his arms again and kissed her, never wanting to let her go, fearing this was all too good to be true, too wonderful to last. "Will you wait for me, Regan? A beautiful woman like you must have many suitors.
Say you’ll wait, darling. I can’t live without you."

  "You know I’ll wait for you." She spoke in a low, provocative voice, her lips red and full, her body tempting him. "I must leave you now--"

  "So soon?" He couldn’t bear the disappointment.

  "Yes, but we’ll have each other for the rest of our lives. You’ll see. Before you know it, I’ll be your wife, instead of that bitch over there," she said, gesturing toward Briana. "Goodbye, dear Weylyn." She blew him a kiss.

  He reached for her again, but he touched empty air. She disappeared, just like that! He stood for long moments, trying to make sense of what he’d seen ... or hadn’t, when she disappeared so quickly. Shaking his head, he strode back toward Briana, hating to look at her. He could think of nothing but turning her over to the druids for execution, so that he and Regan could marry.

  Weylyn nudged her with his boot. "Wake up! You’ve slept long enough. We don’t have all day."

  She opened her eyes and stretched. "I was having the most wonderful dream."

  "Who cares about your damn dream? You’ve held us back far too long. Time to leave for Lochlann. You won’t be dreaming then, unless it’s a nightmare."

  Raising herself on her elbow, she stared at him. "Weylyn, what’s happened to you?"

  * * * *

  Briana couldn’t believe her ears. "What’s come over you? Have you lost your senses?"

  "No, just found them. You’ve fooled me long enough, but no more. Briana, no more! Now get up so we can leave."

  She gulped as tears flooded her eyes, but she brushed them away. Her mind went back to the time he’d come after her, only a few days ago. Even then, he hadn’t spoken to her in this cruel manner. What had made him change? She shoved her cloak aside and stood. "Very well, then. You want to leave? Fine with me." She reached for the basket. "A quick breakfast and we’ll be on our way."