The Spellbinder: Highland Eyes

by Marissa St. James

  Meryl's gaze slowly moved upward to his face. She tried to focus on the blur that passed for his features and concentrated harder on his words. “Where is Tristan?” There was something she had to tell her handfast husband. An apology? Yes, she was supposed to apologize for something. He owed her one as well. What was it for?

  "What do you want with him? He will never make you a lifelong offer. I'm offering to make you my wife! I'm offering you the throne of Scotland.” She frustrated him with her insistent demand to know where Tristan was. Tristan could go to the devil for all he cared. What he couldn't understand was her lack of concern for the powers she had and what those powers could do for the Scots. He was more concerned with what her powers could do for him.

  Meryl responded haltingly, her words slightly slurred. “The ... throne ... isn't yours to offer. Even if it were ... I am handfasted to another. Where is my Tristan?"

  Graeme held back the fury building within him and his jaw clenched. The last thing he wanted to hear from her lips was Tristan's name. He shoved her toward the nearest warrior. “Bind her.” Graeme walked away to stand beside an upright post.

  "Lady Meryl.” Graeme spoke in a loud clear voice, his patience almost at an end. “You have been charged and found guilty of witchcraft."

  Meryl tried to shake free of the cotton stuffed in her head. A small part of her mind grasped Graeme's words, but responding to them proved difficult. Concentrate! The word screamed in her head and she tried desperately to latch on to it. “What charges?” she finally asked. What was in the water? She didn't know of any herb that could intoxicate so quickly and rob a person of their will. Meryl shook her head and concentrated on the power within her to throw off the herbs’ effect. She needed her wits about her to deal with the trouble she was in.

  "Within hours of your disappearance, one of the fields was trampled by creatures of the night. Nothing could be saved of that field. In the following weeks, lambs were found slaughtered in sacrificial rites. You have crippled these people's chances for survival here. You cast a spell over them, making them believe they were in danger from the English. All along they were in danger from you. Do you deny you used them?"

  "Yes, I deny it.” Shortly after she left? The field of grain didn't look to have been trampled that long ago ... and she'd been gone three months. How could the timing have been changed to make the loss appear older than it truly was? Magic? Could the new owner have arrived unannounced and even now be wreaking havoc with their crops and livestock to chase them out of the valley? That was the coward's way of evicting them. Something else was going on here.

  "Look at them, Meryl. Even now they dare not look at you. They fear you will curse them.” Graeme's voice broke into her thoughts.

  Meryl tugged at the bindings holding her securely to the post, then turned her head slowly and squinted at the villagers. Graeme was right. They wouldn't look at her—no one but Maisri. The clear part of Meryl's mind told her the villagers weren't afraid of her; they feared Graeme. What did he hold over them? Where were the children? What had he done with them?” She struggled to free her hands only to have the leather cut into her wrists; the bindings held her snugly in place.

  "Wed with me, Meryl. Come to me and be mine.” Graeme's voice whispered close to her ear.

  Maisri watched Meryl struggle against the post. The older woman's eyes held a secret sorrow. While Graeme held the children hostage, no one would get involved in trying to free Meryl. They wouldn't risk their children to save one woman. Maisri lifted one hand and rested it lightly against her chest, as if to catch her breath. She slowly and deliberately patted a spot just beneath the hollow of her throat, never taking her eyes from Meryl.

  Meryl focused on the steady movement of the woman's hand. What was she trying to say? The pendant. Tristan had the other half of the pendant. A lot of good it did her.

  "Where is Tristan?” Meryl asked once more while she continued the struggle to free her hands.

  Again, Graeme chose to ignore the question, and continued with his accusations. “Two of the village men have claimed you caused their parts to disappear."

  Meryl laughed uncontrollably at the absurdness of the charge. She should be afraid, not laughing. She calmed down and her features took on a serious look. “Prove it.” She glanced around and noted, with satisfaction, two warriors’ faces turn several shades of crimson.

  "Where is your witch's mark? Malcolm, strip off her dress and search for the devil's mark."

  Malcolm flinched at the order and tried to find an excuse to steer clear of the young woman. “We don't need to find any mark, Graeme. We've seen her sorcery. That's enough to condemn her.” The other warriors quickly agreed, not one of them willing to get any closer to her than necessary.

  "Tristan.” Graeme decided to satisfy her question, but not the way she thought. “A pity what became of him. You bewitched him before he brought you here. He believed you were this Legend everyone waited for. When you grew bored with your games here, you left, and he disappeared as well. The village protector ... vanished."

  Graeme stepped closer to her. “You shouldn't have used your wiles on other young men, Jeannie. You should have wed with me when you had the chance. We could have ruled the Highlands together. Now you'll only rule in Hell!” His features took on a dark, vengeful look. His hatred showed clearly now.

  Meryl's mind cleared and focused on the use of a wrong name. She had never heard the name ‘Jeannie’ and wondered who she was. Maybe she jilted him and he was seeking revenge. Why she should be his target made no sense to Meryl.

  "You could have been my queen,” Graeme hissed, “but it wasn't good enough for you. I loved you, Jeannie, and you returned my love by sharing your favors with my brother. I can't stop you from casting spells on other men. I would never have hurt you, but you've forced my hand. Now you'll pay for what you've done. Fire will purify your soul and scrub the blood from my hands."

  Meryl shrank back against the pole, unable to flee from the empty, soulless eyes staring down at her. He was completely mad.

  Graeme stepped away from Meryl and signaled the warriors to place the wood around her. Meryl's silver eyes widened in disbelief. He wouldn't really go through with this ... Once more she struggled to get free of her bindings, grimacing as the leather strips bit deeper into her wrists. She stopped suddenly when Robbie moved closer. He held a burning torch and his eyes held a malevolent stare. Graeme snatched the torch from Robbie's hand and slowly moved forward toward the wood piled about her long skirts. Meryl was too petrified to scream.

  * * * *

  Dinks and Famhair crouched in the tall grass close to the hut and watched the goings on. "Why don't you go to your master?" Dinks grumbled.

  "Because my master can manage without me for the time being. When we have need of him, we'll find him. Anyway he can't be of much help without a weapon."

  "There is someone who can help us there," Dinks remarked and melded with the shadows. He stopped long enough to sniff the air. No one had followed him. He needed the attention of only one person. The female who wanted Tristan, hid beside the hut, watching the scene before her. Rose started at the cat's appearance. Dinks rubbed his head against her arm.

  "We have to find Tristan. He's the only one who can stop this madness.” Rose spoke softly to the cat, wondering why she thought he understood. Keeping low, she made her way to the trees, not far from the hut, and prayed Graeme wouldn't look in her direction.

  Dinks led her to Famhair, then crouched before the dog. "You have to protect my mistress while I look for your master, as miserable as the idea is to me, it's the best we have."

  "Why can't you stay with your mistress while I look for my master?"

  "Because," replied Dinks as if the answer were obvious, "the humans accuse her of being a witch, and I am black."

  "Guess that's a good enough reason. I doubt my master's gone far. You bring him back and I will do what I can to slow down those humans and whatever they intend to do."


  Rose looked back and forth between the animals as if she understood them. She chided herself for the crazy thought and set off after the cat slinking in the shadows.

  * * * *

  Tristan had no idea why Graeme had finally set him free. Leaving him with only a dirk and his horse, Graeme's men had escorted him out of the valley and warned him never to return. It was because of the friendship they'd shared, or so Graeme claimed, that he spared Tristan's life. But he promised the warrior death would be his only greeting if he should try to return. Tristan took a deep breath and it caught in his chest. His ribs still hurt from the pounding he'd received from Graeme. He was fairly certain at least a couple of them were cracked. If it hadn't been for Rose's help, he'd be in much worse shape than he was. Rose, with the help of one or two guards, managed to get some food and water to him. She had no news of Meryl's whereabouts.

  Sitting by the stream meandering through the valley, his chin rested on his chest. He slouched against a tree, dozing. The morning sun filtered down through the trees. Dinks stealthily approached the human. When he got close enough he snuffled loudly against Tristan's ear, startling him. Tristan fell back, away from the intruder, his dirk in his hand. The cat jumped back as well and each stared at the other for a wary moment.

  "What are you doing here, Dinks? Where's Meryl?” Tristan looked around. There was nothing to suggest Meryl was close by.

  Dinks approached Tristan slowly, as the man sheathed the dirk at his belt. Dinks carefully swatted at the pendant where it lay against Tristan's chest.

  "What are you doing, you fool animal?” Tristan pushed him away.

  Again, Meryl's pet swatted at the pendent and Tristan pushed Dinks back, annoyed with the cat's antics.

  Dinks went after the jewelry once more and caught the chain in his claws. One good yank was all he needed. The chain broke.

  Tristan grabbed the necklace before it could fall very far. “What is wrong with you, cat?” The stone caught his eye. The turquoise was nearly colorless. Tristan frantically searched his memory for the information Maisri had given him. The stone paled when its owner faced a life-threatening situation.

  "Meryl's in trouble?” he watched the cat dubiously, while Dinks nuzzled his hand and moved away. “You'd be with her if she weren't in serious trouble."

  The cat stalked back to the village while Tristan kept Laoch to the shadows as much as possible. Smoke floated lazily upward from one of the fields. He could see it, thick and choking. The villagers stood to one side while warriors guarded them with swords drawn, making certain no one attempted to interfere. Thank the goddess there had been no dry wood or Meryl would be in flames by now.

  Rose also kept to the shadows and waited to see the cat return. She knew Tristan would return when he learned Meryl had returned. She was pleased Maisri trusted her enough to send her with the heavy broadsword to wait for Tristan. Rose stepped from the shadows of the woods and held up the heavy weapon in both hands, but nearly dropped it.

  "I'm sorry we couldn't get your sword. Graeme keeps it by his side. You'll need this to save your lady and our mistress. Goddess be with you, Tristan.” Rose kept the apology short. She'd finally accepted Meryl's place among them.

  Tristan took the sword from Rose and gave her a smile.

  Rose returned the smile and watched the warrior ride to the village. She may have lost the man she believed she loved, but she was grateful to once again have his respect.

  * * * *

  "Get that beast out of my way!” Graeme screamed. Famhair stood between the warrior and the pile of wood surrounding the female human. The huge dog growled and his fangs showed menacingly. Two of his men looped ropes about the dog's neck and dragged him away. Famhair fought to get free, but with each man tugging the ropes in opposite directions, he only succeeded in choking himself. He stopped struggling and waited for a better moment.

  Graeme watched Meryl choke on thick smoke when the wood smoldered and the flame refused to catch. He grew impatient and paced back and forth, cursing his men for their incompetence. He knew Tristan would be back when he got word of Meryl's return. His warning to stay away or face death was one his former friend would ignore. It didn't really matter. Tristan's anger would make him careless, making Graeme's job easier. He didn't need Meryl, only the pendant. Ena could hold the magic as well as any other woman. Graeme could easily control her. Meryl was no longer an asset his plans, and once she was dead, a grieving Tristan would feel the bite of Graeme's sword. No one would stand in his way.

  Laoch galloped past the villagers and Tristan pulled his mount to a halt near the smoking wood. Leaning over the stallion's neck, he grasped his broadsword like a mallet and scattered the loosely stacked pile, before the flame could finally catch in her skirts. He dismounted and caught Meryl after he severed her bonds.

  The distraction of his unexpected arrival gave the warriors the opportunity to escape. Graeme stood a distance away, wide-eyed, not believing they would desert him.

  "Cowards!” he screamed after them, drawing his sword. “Run! I'll find every one of you and you'll all die as traitors.” Malcolm, alone, remained silent by his side.

  "Tris...” Meryl rasped.

  "Not now, my love.” Tristan laid her carefully on the grass and turned worried eyes to Maisri. Her throat must be raw from the smoke she'd inhaled. Famhair trotted over to him, the ropes about his neck dangling. Tristan pulled them off the hound before the dog could trip himself up. “Guard her, Famhair."

  "Do what you must. We'll look after her.” Maisri nodded her assurance as Tristan gently brushed strands of hair away from Meryl's face.

  Love and worry for the bewitching young woman flitted across Tristan's features and quickly vanished. There was one thing left to do. Tristan rose from Meryl's side and held the broadsword tightly in his grip. “Why, Graeme? What has she done to offend you, that you think you have to kill her?"

  Graeme pulled the sword from its sheath at his side and grasped the weapon with both hands. He thought it ironic that Tristan's own sword would be the weapon to bring about his demise. It would serve Graeme well. He watched and waited for Tristan to make a move. “Her presence offends me,” he sneered. “She ruined all my plans when she turned to you. Jeannie was always mine and you had to get in the way. You're the same as my brother and all the others, wanting her favors, not caring that she's betrothed to me. I left her behind until I could establish a home worthy of her. She would have been my queen, but you destroyed all my plans by bringing her here."

  Realization hit Tristan like a thunderbolt and everything fell into place. “It was you all along. We lost battles we should have won because you were the traitor. When Meryl disappeared, you had me thrown into the dungeon to keep me from searching for her."

  Graeme shrugged. “Doesn't matter now. When you're dead, I'll finish with her, then everything will be the way it should. She won't help me get the crown. She could have been Queen of Scotland, now she'll have nothing."

  The two warriors circled each other, looking for an opportunity to strike. Graeme swung first, only to meet Tristan's sword. The sound of clashing metal rang out across the valley. Villagers moved quickly away from the combatants, trying to avoid the lethal weapons.

  Each man looked for an opening to best his opponent. Both had been trained by Angus, making any surprise moves impossible. Tristan gritted his teeth. Angus, his friend and mentor, was dead because of this man. Graeme had a great deal to answer for. Tristan avoided the next blow, aimed at his head. Using two hands to put more force behind his swing, he struck Graeme's weapon, shattering it. His sword point lay against Graeme's throat.

  Tristan waited a moment to allow his shallow breathing to return to a more normal pace. Graeme stood helpless before him. “I should kill you for what you've done. You were my good friend, it wounds me deeply to know you could betray our friendship, but I won't kill you, Graeme. Consider yourself an outlaw Scot. Get your things and ride out of this valley; you are never to return. Y
ou dealt with the English, and they have their own way of dealing with traitors. You belong to them now.” The man standing before him was nothing more than an evil shell of what he once was. Tristan grieved silently for the loss of a friend. The point of his sword slipped down Graeme's chest, then was pulled away. Tristan turned away, his full attention centered on Meryl's recovery.

  Graeme glanced down at the broken weapon in his hand and his features twisted with hatred. He released a devilish scream and ran after Tristan's receding back. The crazed warrior held his broken sword high, like a dagger, ready to inflict a death blow on his enemy. Dinks ran from the side of the cottage and jumped against Tristan, knocking his master flat on his face. The cat, now the size of a panther, kept his front paws on Tristan's back, pinning the warrior to the ground. The dog stood guard as he'd been commanded, but saw the stunned expression on Dinks’ face. For a moment, he wondered how humans would see him. No one would attempt to get past either animal.

  Graeme stopped short and stiffened in shock. His free hand reached around and tried to grasp the protruding weapon from the middle of his back. He couldn't reach it and fell in a heap, dead.

  Malcolm, his features shuttered, withdrew the dirk and wiped the blade on the dead man's clothes. Famhair growled, but Malcolm gave the dog a cursory glance. The villagers stared at the warrior, not knowing what side Graeme's second in command stood on. “There's no honor in killing your enemy in the back when he's defeated you.” He sheathed the blade and stared at the others, as if daring any of them to say otherwise.

  Dinks cautiously backed away and sat beside the deerhound. "I can't believe I did that,” the cat growled, shaking its head with disbelief. "I actually saved that man from certain death."

  Famhair made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a dog laugh. "Let's face it, my friend. Those two are meant to be together, and no scheming on our parts will change the fact."

  "I suppose you're right,” Dinks responded, "but I don't have to like it."