"Don't know,” Meryl muttered. She hesitated a moment then added more clearly. “I have a feeling I'm about to face something I may not be ready for."
CHAPTER THREE
"Do you think he could be the one?” a male voice asked.
"Perhaps,” a female responded. “I sensed a change in her pendant. He may be the one to guide her, but we will wait and see what becomes of their next meeting.” She remained silent for a moment then added, “Time is growing short. There are enemies who will soon be aware of her presence and attempt to stop her before she takes her rightful place."
"Then we should help her,” the male insisted.
"No. To help her now is to bring unwanted attention to her. That would defeat our goal. She must survive on her own. She must prove herself worthy."
"And him?"
"He may be chosen to guide her, but anything more ... We will have to wait and see."
* * * *
Meryl walked along the beach to clear her head of all the confusing thoughts. Enchantra would be unhappy to find the house not ready when she returned from her honeymoon but Meryl had no worries on that score. What did bother her were constant thoughts of the handsome stranger filling her mind. He haunted her day and night—and she didn't even know his name.
The colorful sunrise failed to penetrate her thoughts. Peach, amethyst and gold ribbons in the dawn sky faded with the brilliance of the rising sun. The huge orb pushed itself out of the sea, but the gorgeous sunrise couldn't replace a pair of emerald green eyes or a set of dimples.
Dinks chased sea gulls scouring the shore for their breakfast. The cat would never learn to leave the birds alone. One good thrust of a sharp beak could do serious damage he wouldn't easily forget. “Dinks, you're asking for trouble,” she warned him as he continued to harass the birds. Meryl finally turned away from her pet and considered events of the previous day. Yesterday had been strange to say the least.
She had gone to town to do some shopping and stopped to admire an eighteenth century gown on display in the window of the dressmaker's shop. The gown was a gorgeous replica. She studied the detailed work of lace, and embroidery, and was startled to see his face reflected in the window. Meryl spun around to demand why he followed her. No one stood behind her. She glanced about for a place he may have hidden but found nothing. There were no deeply recessed doorways, and most shops had picture windows, allowing passersby to look into the businesses. She turned back to the window, where his reflection remained a moment longer, then vanished. Thinking about it now, she felt goose bumps raise on her arms, and she steeled herself against the shiver.
Could he be a magician? Another one in town could mean trouble. The townsfolk tolerated the Spellbinders, but the family had been around for ages as had Enchantra's new husband's family. Now they would have to tolerate the two at the same time. But a stranger? Not likely.
Meryl felt unsettled by the reflection and tried to shrug it off as her imagination working overtime again. “I suppose I'd best head back to the mansion and get some work done. Dinks! Come! Time to go back."
Being home did nothing to dispell the constant eerie feelings. Meryl kicked at the incoming wave in frustration, then stared at the cold seawater lapping over her bare feet. Dinks returned, but waited on the dry sand for his mistress. Meryl reached up to put her headphones in place. Hopefully, a rousing Celtic tune would improve her mood and put things in perspective. She hooked the Walkman to the waistband of her jeans and depressed a button to start the tape rolling.
Despite her nearness to the water, Dinks bounded to her side and pushed his weight against her legs. “Dinks, stop that!” Meryl glanced up, startled to find she had company. She neither heard nor saw the Scotsman approach. His mount stood at the waterline and the dog remained by its side, sitting on firmly packed sand.
"You never told me your name,” she pouted, and could have kicked herself for sounding petulant. It was his fault. He made her uncomfortable, staring at her the way he did, as if she were a favorite dessert.
Her gaze locked with his, his green eyes holding a hint of amusement. He took the headphones from her and leaned forward slightly to listen for a moment.
Meryl's knees threatened to become as fluid as the waves washing over her feet. She broke free of his stare and flushed with embarrassment, then frowned and thrust her hands against her hips, trying to compose herself.
He held out the headset to her and she took it quickly, almost snatching it from his hand.
"I don't suppose I did.” He smiled again and almost laughed when Meryl looked away quickly. He liked her reaction better than when they'd first met. He didn't think she was naive, but neither was she worldly wise. The rosy blush became her. “Walk with me.” He turned away and strolled along the sand, expecting her to follow him without question.
Dinks kept his distance, never straying far from his mistress. He watched the stranger who insisted on intruding in his mistress’ world and subtly demanded her full attention. Dinks ignored Famhair who stayed by the horse. The stallion trailed behind the couple, leaving deep imprints in the wet sand. The hoofmarks quickly filled with foamy water as each wave covered it, smoothing out the wet sand a little more, until the marks finally disappeared. Plovers scattered out of the couple's way. Dinks could tell Famhair was tempted to chase after the small birds, but the well-trained dog kept his pace beside the horse.
"My name is Tristan.” He bowed slightly with the introduction. “I come from another place and time.” He paused, half expecting her to respond to the last comment. The silence between them grew uncomfortable. He watched her staring downward as they strolled parallel to the shoreline.
Meryl glanced up at him, her eyebrows raised in doubt. She tried to figure out why he seemed to be choosing his words very carefully. What did he have to hide? Not that what he was saying made any sense to her. Another time and place? Who did he think he was kidding?
"Tell me something about yourself,” he prompted.
"Tristan. Nice name. It can mean sorrowful or noisy. Which are you?” It was her turn to ignore his question. She knew he was trying to not give her time to consider what he'd just told her. Two could play the same game. She was just as determined to not let him control the conversation.
"And it also means a knight."
"Well, you certainly don't look unhappy, so you must be a noisy knight."
Tristan laughed, appreciating her sense of humor. “I've done my share of hell raising. Now, tell me about yourself, your family."
"Nothing to tell. Never knew either of my parents. My grandmother raised me for a short time and when she died, Enchantra became my guardian. I'm of an age I no longer need a guardian and my aunt recently married, so my life is my own now.” Meryl didn't like the way she felt compelled to answer his questions.
Tristan considered that bit of information and was satisfied it fit into his plans. If her life held no intimate ties, then no one would miss her for a while if she suddenly disappeared. They stopped walking when they reached the foot of the cliff behind the mansion. Tristan tucked wayward strands of black hair behind her ear. Then, out of nowhere, he offered a pale pink rose, its petals tipped with a hint of deeper pink.
"This poor rose doesn't compare to the blush of your cheek.” He declared gallantly, and slid the soft petals along her jaw, then paused a moment. “I must go, my lady fair. If you like, I will return."
Meryl nodded, entranced. “If you want.” She sensed a vague restlessness about him and wondered if it had anything to do with her cautious attitude. He intrigued her, but at the same time she felt wary, warning her to keep some distance between them. He wasn't being totally open with her.
"Good day to you, my lady."
Meryl left him at the foot of the cliff and climbed the steep path to the top. She turned to glance below. He was gone. He had to be a wizard or something, to disappear so quickly and completely. She searched the beach, but found no trace of man, horse or hound, and nothing to show they'
d ever been there. Even hoof prints in the wet sand were gone. There was nothing, except for the rose. She slowly twirled the flower between her fingers and smiled. He was most interesting, but she wasn't about to admit it aloud.
* * * *
Days later, Meryl stared wistfully out into the morning rain. Cara sat with her on the sheltered veranda, enjoying hot chocolate. The treat suited the weather perfectly.
Cara sighed. “Think I'll dye my hair green and buy some really crazy clothes."
"That's nice.” Meryl continued to stare at the woods.
"Okay, Meryl,” Cara slapped her free hand against the arm of her chair, startling her companion. “Let's have it. Something's been distracting you since I got here. You haven't heard a word I've said in the last ten minutes."
Meryl blushed. She did a lot of that lately. She couldn't decide whether or not to tell her best friend. After all, she had no idea how the situation would turn out, and some secrets were hard to share.
Cara's eyes widened with sudden understanding. “There's a man in your life!” she squealed with delight. “It's about time, girl. Tell me all the juicy details.” She leaned toward her best friend. “Wait a minute ... the roses?” Meryl nodded. “Do I know him?"
"Okay! Okay!” Meryl laughed. “No, you don't know him. He's not from around here. I met him on the beach."
"For goodness sake, don't trust him. I mean, he could be a serial killer for all you know.” Cara's sudden disapproval startled Meryl. Her warning came out just as strongly as her stated desire to know what was going on.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence. Anyway, I don't quite trust him. He wants something.” Meryl turned to her friend. “Don't look at me like that,” she laughed, then became serious again. “I don't sense anything predatory about him—and you know I'm a pretty good judge of character.” She stared out into the pouring rain, as if mesmerized by its steady rhythm. “Not to worry, Dinks is always with me, and you know how he gets on with strangers."
The cat lazily raised his head, blinked and yawned broadly, showing off a set of very sharp teeth.
"Yeah. I know. He's not any ordinary cat. He doesn't exactly like me either, and you and I have known each other forever.” Cara nodded. She looked down at the panther-like cat, stretched out on the other side of Meryl. Once again he slept soundly, oblivious of the rain and the humans. At least he seemed to be sleeping soundly—Cara had her doubts.
"He gave you the roses. The stranger, I mean, not Dinks. What's with the color?"
Meryl shrugged. “Nothing I know of. Anyway, he hasn't said much about himself, but he is curious about my pendant. I've got a feeling he knows something I should know."
"That's not saying much. What's he look like? At least tell me that."
"Black hair down to here,” Meryl suggested a length just below her shoulder. “With a side braid like the medieval warriors wore. He has the greenest eyes I have ever seen. And dimples.” She laughed. “I couldn't believe the dimples!"
Cara sighed. “He sounds almost perfect. I should be so lucky."
"Yeah, he does. Almost too perfect, I think."
"If you decide you don't want him, send him my way.” Cara hinted impishly.
The rain fell harder, adding to puddles and splashing on the veranda's wood railings. “Might as well go inside. This isn't going to let up anytime soon.” Dinks stood and stretched lazily, then followed the girls into the house.
"Meryl?” Cara arrived in the kitchen first and stared at the table, but kept a safe distance from it. A pale pink rose lay in the center of the table, its soft petals touched by raindrops. “How did that get here?"
Meryl checked the floor around the kitchen door and found it dry. The kitchen door was bolted. “He didn't get in this way and we were sitting by the front door. Anyway, Dinks would have known. He's better than a watch dog any day."
"Do you think your stranger could be a witch or a wizard?” The idea fascinated Cara and set her imagination in a whirl of possibility.
"Not likely.” Meryl placed the rose in the vase with the other two. What did he want from her?
* * * *
Three days passed and the rain continued intermittently. The gray days were depressing and kept Meryl inside. She busied herself with getting the house ready for her aunt's return, and still had time to wonder how a rose appeared each morning. The petals were softer than velvet, and tipped with raindrops. Each night she dreamed of rose bouquets hiding laughing green eyes, a broad smile and dimples. Her thoughts warred with one another. Her curiosity begged to know more about Tristan, while her sense of caution warned her not to trust him.
She kept herself busy during the day, not wanting to give any thought to him. When she did think about him, which turned out to be most of the time, she decided she liked the medieval sounding name and wished she knew something more about the man.
For the first time in almost a week, the early morning sky cleared, and bright sunshine warmed the soaked earth. The herb garden needed work; the weeds had grown like, well, weeds. Meryl wasn't in the mood to play in the mud, so the gardening would have to wait until the ground dried out a bit. Many herbs and flowers appeared battered from the occasional downpour. Meryl wanted to run, to feel the warm sun on her face and sand beneath her feet. She called to Dinks and together they descended the path behind the mansion, down to the beach.
He was waiting there, watching the tide as if contemplating the mysteries of the sea. He turned his back to the water as she approached and patted the deerhound's shoulder. Did he ever go anywhere without the dog? It wasn't a fair question, really, when she rarely went anywhere without Dinks. How could the warrior have been so sure she would be on the beach now? Was he a mindreader as well? There were mysteries, and there were mysteries. Meryl couldn't decide how she felt about this one. She did know the sight of him always made her heart beat faster, and now was no exception to that observation. She caught her breath while Dinks shied away from the man and his horse, not liking either of them. She couldn't figure out his reaction to Famhair.
Meryl stood silently for a moment, watching the surging white capped waves. The tide foamed and sloshed, reaching its highest point on the shore, just before her. “Thank you for the roses,” she said without looking at him.
Tristan held out a single red rose. The flower had partially opened, its delicate fragrance at odds with the salty tang of the sea. “The roses can't compare to a lady as lovely as you."
Meryl thought his comment was rather old worldly, and that only added to the aura of mystery surrounding him. “You like to embarrass me."
"Perhaps I like to see you blush. It's most becoming.” Tristan realized he liked teasing her and smiled at her discomfort. The unusual pin on the collar of her shirt caught his attention. He stepped closer to examine it more carefully. The small bearded figure, dressed in a blue robe and hat, seemed frustrated or upset, while it held out a wand. Tristan laughed softly.
"A frustrated wizard,” Meryl explained. “On rare occasions my aunt displays a strange sense of humor. It's my favorite pin and I always wear it."
"Odd, I never noticed it before.” He commented, then turned his attention out to sea, the pin quickly forgotten. “What do you suppose lies out there?"
Meryl glanced at him, unable to keep up with his abrupt change in conversation. When he seemed to settle on one topic, he quickly turned to something else. She gave his new question a moment's thought. “Other countries and people. Sometimes I think about places I'd like to see, things I'd like to do."
"My home is in Scotland, but not the country you're familiar with. We need your help, Meryl. Without you, our ways will be lost forever. You have the power to prevent it from happening.” Time was growing short and he needed to draw her into his plans as quickly as possible.
"You certainly have some strange ideas. I have no magic or power of any kind why else would you be trying to convince me after the strange questions you've asked. I don't see how I can be of help to you
or anyone else.” What made her think he was looking for that sort of power source?
"This led me to you. You are the only one who can help us.” Tristan touched the silver chains holding her pendant. A shiver ran through her at his touch.
"There are some children who can't croak a note in a family of singers. There are ugly children born into beautiful families. I am the child who could never sing. I'm the only one in this family who has no witching powers. I couldn't cast a spell if my life depended on it."
"The pendant led me to you,” he insisted.
"This pendant is a family heirloom. As the only daughter in my family, I inherited it. If you want a witch, you should wait until Enchantra returns from her honeymoon. She could whip up a spell for you, do whatever you want, and more. Although, you may not appreciate the storm clouds that often go with it."
Tristan laughed. “I've seen your aunt's magic and it's definitely not what we need.” His voice softened. “Say you'll help us, Meryl."
"Why is it so important I go with you?” Meryl's curiosity had the better of her, but Tristan was intent on her acquiescence. She didn't like the subtle insistence she heard in his voice.
"When will you see your twenty-first birthday?” Again, he seemed to change the subject as he ignored her question.
"What does my age have to do with anything?"
"When, Meryl? Time is running out. I have to return soon, with or without you, preferably with. Your importance matters to the future of many people."
"Early August, the first, as a matter of fact."
"This summer?"
"No, next year."
"More than a year away,” he muttered under his breath. “A year to keep her alive, to see no harm comes to her."
Meryl listened to his mutterings, in what sounded like another language. If she gave it some thought, she was sure she could figure out what he was saying. She didn't know how she knew that—she just knew it. He continued to look around as if he spoke to someone she couldn't see. “I can't understand a word you're saying,” she complained, wishing he would speak plainly. She paused a moment, and getting no response from him, threw her hands up in frustration. “Goddess save me from incomprehensible Scots."
The Spellbinder: Highland Eyes Page 3
