“What’s happened?”
“How much dae ye ken?”
“When I left Brenawyn in the mortal realm I was compelled by Cernunnos, but he promised ta stay the Hunt til she came ta him ‘afore Samhain. Finvarra came ta me soon afterward and told me that she underwent Widdershins and she made her way ta William.”
“Nothing else? Are ye sure?”
Alex nodded, intentionally keeping quiet about his knowledge of the pregnancy.
“Och.” He looked to the gods, and grabbed Alex, “Ye need ta come back with me. There’s much that has happened.”
Alex grabbed a handful of Amergin’s cloak, “She’s no’ safe? Tell me.”
“She caused a clishmaclaver when she arrived that’s for sure. Arrived first thing and there were those that called her the Sleeping Lady.”
Alex groaned slapping his hand to his forehead.
“That could ha’ been easy o’erlooked but then there was the child.”
Panicked, Alex asked, “What child?” a decibel or two higher than he intended. His voice carried and the gods looked at them.
Amergin yanked Alex so his back was to the deities. “Keep yer voice down, man.”
He closed his eyes and inhaled through his teeth, “What child?” he asked again in an impatient whisper.
“One o’ yer brother’s groomsmen’s babes. Sickly from birth as William tells it.”
“What o’ it then?”
“She healed her in Hall, ‘afore everyone and the gods. There was nay way ta hide who she was after that.”
Horror struck Alex as the scenarios played out in his head. She was in the past, a stranger, no family to protect her, and those that would help could only do so much, her speech different, her mannerisms; she was independent and that alone might brand her a witch.
“Did ye no’ tell her that ta declare herself was tantamount ta heresy now?”
“Argh, I didnae get a chance ta. Her time is so verra much different and I only had a short time.”
“William called me ta steal her away ‘afore the bishop came. He was afraid that he’d bring the witch hunters. There were rumors—Relax. We got away.”
“Ah, she was with ye. There’s no one I would trust more—
“There is one other thing, Alex.”
“Aye?”
Amergin backed up and planted his feet, “Liam.”
Anger boiled over, “That whoreson! I’ll kill him.” He stalked to Amergin intent on violence. He shook his balled fists, “And ye left her exposed ta come here? Are ye daft then?”
“I left her under guard, two score o’ men, William wouldnae ha’ it any other way. They’re under Tavish’s command.”
“Tavish, ye say? He’s a braw fighter, but why, Amergin? Ye ken her importance. Why would ye leave when ye are the best equipped ta defend?”
“Oghma got word ta me that the Coven were preparing, so under guise, I traversed time, infiltrated their compound ta ascertain the threat.”
“Were ye recognized?”
Amergin gave him a withering look. His bones creaked and he tilted his head to the sky. Alex could see his facial bones moving under skin. “Ye seem ta forget, fledgling, that I am the master of disguise.” Amergin brought his head down to look Alex in the eye.
Alex was looking into the eyes of his brother, and had the disguise been complete with height and girth his own mother would have mistaken him for her son.
“Ye also seem ta forget that I got Pendragon’s father past the guard ta his mother’s bedchamber.”
“That was a long time ago, old man, when are ye going ta let it go? An ill-begotten tryst, that ended with Arthur fated ta lead such a sad life. I’d no’ be so smug about yer dealings in that game. I know where he is, and I’m no’ sure that he’d consider it a blessing.”
“Och, a’richt then.”
“And the threat?”
“Cormac is getting ready ta move. He has no’ appointed a twelfth ta take the Oracle’s place yet. He means ta do so on Samhain ‘afore he tries ta take the priestess’ powers.”
“Any intelligence on how he…”
“He has a hostage. A healer was summoned ta tend ta her so she can undergo travel.”
“It can be one of two women. How old?”
“A young lass, hair shorn close ta the scalp, a shame really. She was quite bonny.”
“Shite. T’is Maggie.”
Chapter 20
Maggie flailed, pummeling blindly as she awoke to a gag being shoved in her mouth. Large hands caught her wrists before she brought them down again and pinned the one closest to her assailant to the cement. A knee slammed into her bicep grinding it further. She bucked, trying to dislodge him, kicking out with her legs. A work lamp was switched on. She saw the filament flicker before the full wattage distorted her vision. She turned her head away from the painful light seeing spots dance in her field of sight. The man attempted again, but she clamped her jaw shut as she tried to press her face into the wall. Her movement was hindered by the pinned arm, his knee ground into the muscle pinching as she shifted. Tears tracked across the bridge of her nose, a wincing pain, and then she was free. She windmilled the arm to bring it close to her body and pressed it close to her side as she hid her face at the base of the wall.
Her assailant grabbed a fistful of her shorn hair and yanked. The short hair slipped out of his fingers and she bashed her nose against the wall, making her eyes tear more. He reached around and grabbed her nose, pinching the nostrils, and pulled her face toward him. His other hand clamped around her throat. She clawed at his wrist. He grunted, and locked his elbow pressing down until she reflexively opened her mouth in a futile attempt to gulp at the air. He stuffed the wadded fabric in her mouth making her gag, but she could breathe. She inhaled through her nose, and she smelled blood; her own or his, it didn’t matter.
She was yanked up and spun around; her hands secured behind her back. The coarse rope bit into her wrists and she strained to keep the muscles tight as he wound the rope around, binding her. The same hood, from the smell of it, materialized as it was being put over her head. She was being moved again.
What had the healer said? Be compliant. Go with them without a fight—not fucking likely.
She could see little through the fabric of the drawstring hood, but she could tell when the punishing light from the 500 watt work lamp was shut off. She let out a sigh of relief as if the light held in it its own form of punishment. It also meant she was quite literally in the dark again.
She felt her assailant move away from her, but now there were more bodies in the space. Their determined steps echoed off the walls.
“Please,” she sobbed, “Please, don’t do this.”
She took a step back feeling for the wall behind her with her fingertips. She lurched backward, stumbling over the discarded blanket, and her shoulder blades made contact. She slid along the wall until she reached the corner. There, bolstered on both sides, she cowered knowing nothing she did would help her now.
The overhead fluorescent light was on, she could see from the slivered space the open drawstring left when she moved just right. There were hands on her shoulders again, smaller but just as intent. The owner towered over her. She bent her hand and sniffed. Antiseptic soap and cigarettes, the smell of a new pack just opened. Andy.
She leaned against him putting her head on his chest. His reaction was small, but in the confined space, she felt him shudder. He put an arm around her waist rubbing the small of her back ever so briefly. Something, a broomstick perhaps, fell and clattered against the shelving, and the moment was gone. He grabbed her and led her out of the maintenance closet. Maggie banged into the doorjamb; Andy muttered an apology.
A cold draft prickled her skin beyond the threshold, but she was cocooned in a scratchy wool wrap instantly as if the person was waiting for her to emerge. Andy bent suddenly, scooping her up in a fireman’s hold, one arm behind her knees securing her to his chest and the other on her hip guiding he
r to a comfortable spot as he rolled his shoulder to evenly distribute her weight.
It wasn’t at all comfortable. The hold was meant for those too incapacitated to feel the bony shoulder digging into the abdomen. Upside down, the ends of her wrap flopped down to cover her head, but no one had seen to secure the drawstring of the hood. It hung on the edge of her chin, and she thought with any luck no one would notice when it slipped off from Andy’s movement, and her bumping into his back.
He patted her rump familiarly.
She tensed at the audacity of the borderline violation. She was confined inside the coil of fabric with her arms crossed over her chest. If she resisted she’d only manage to look like an inchworm. She hoped it was a long way to wherever they were destined, and she further hoped that her weight crippled him.
Blood pooled in her head and after a short time she imagined could feel her blood pressure pulse in her temples. She had good balance, but this angle, and being confined so, was disorienting.
That was his plan all along.
He even told her as much when he brought her up the stairs in the wheelchair. He aimed to keep her disoriented: first she was sedated, then made dependent on him for her sustenance, her bodily eliminations…and hygiene. She was kept in the dark, forced to wear a hood, and moved only at night. He used the work lamp to further disorient her, and now the wool prison. Resting her head against his back made her neck absorb the shock of his gait. It took strength to resist the jostling which further added to her neck pain. In contrast, allowing her head to thump against his back was a strain on her abdominal muscles and it made her head pound. She was nauseous and with repetition, she had to fight the urge to vomit swallowing bile as it filled her mouth.
She lost that battle and retched. Andy stopped when he felt the telltale muscle contractions.
“Why do ye stop? Time is o’ the essence.”
Andy put his arm around the back of her knees, and a hand on her back as he bent over.
“Unless you want her to choke on her own vomit, I suggest we pause. Little good she would serve if she were dead.”
“Ruadan is impatient. A punishment is sure ta be meted out.”
“Then tell him it was me who made the decision to delay. I will meet his reckoning.”
Cormac paused. “What dae ye need?”
Andy ripped off the hood, and wiped the vomit from Maggie’s face tossing it away. “Water, towels, and a sharp knife.”
Cormac looked down at him assessing, then unsheathed the dirk at his waist. He handed it to him hilt first. “Doonae make me regret this.”
Water and towels were brought. Andy doused the towel and washed Maggie’s face. She was grateful even though she knew it was at Andy’s word she was treated this way. She had seen abuse, and lived through it time and again; she had an imagination, too, to tell her it could be so much worse. It wasn’t completely hopeless…yet.
He tilted a bottle of water to her mouth. She clamped onto the opening and tried to guzzle it. He wrenched it from her, scolding her that she’d get sick, but it was too late. She fell to her side to vomit again. Andy sat her up and repeated the process. This time he gave her instructions to just swish the water in her mouth to get rid of the taste. She listened.
“Can you remain standing for a few minutes?”
Maggie nodded and Andy set her on her feet. He undid the wrap, uncoiling it the six times it was wrapped around her body. He measured it out, and taking the knife Cormac had entrusted him with, he slit the fabric, cutting it down by half. He balled up one piece and threw it at Linda. It hit her in the chest and she let it fall. She scowled and flipped him off, as she walked away. With the other he whisked it over Maggie’s head, the length settling on her shoulders.
He called for Cormac again, asking this time for fasteners. Cormac came back with kilt pins. Andy put one in his front pocket, and opened the other putting the end in his mouth. He reached down to the edge of the trailing fabric and brought it up to Maggie’s shoulder. He fastened it with the first on the pins, and then repeated the action on the other side. The last thing he did was saw at the binding holding her hands.
“There, that should be better.”
He handed the knife back to Cormac and turned to pull the excess fabric to the front. He scooped Maggie up to cradle her in his arms. “Arrange the cloth so you’re not cold.”
“I can walk.”
“Not possible.”
“Why have the healer fix my leg then?”
He looked at her for a moment without answering, and then steeled his face. He pivoted to where Cormac stood behind him. “Let us not keep this Ruadan waiting.”
~ ~ ~
The localized flushed fever receded with her headache and nausea making Maggie feel much revived. She had her head on Andy’s chest to give the appearance she was still disoriented, but she was keenly aware. There were warehouses all around, but she couldn’t grasp where they were. To her knowledge there was no place that was so big that would support the length of time a fairly large party had been walking with one member carrying a human-sized bundle without drawing attention. And when they had used the van to transport her in the past, why would they walk now?
They entered the last warehouse on the pier. It was empty, a vacuous space four stories high. There was an office immediately on the left. Actually, more of a guard house, with an automated wooden gate barring entrance to trucks entering from the hanger door. Cormac walked to the center, his voice boomed out, “Ruadan.” His baritone echoed eerily. “We are here as ye requested.”
“As I can see,” a deep voice answered.
“Show yerself, and ha’ done with it. We followed yer rules.”
“I shall be the judge. T’is my neck that will be on the chopping block if ought goes wrong.”
“Yer more eager than I ta be done with the Covenant—
“Aye, t’is the truth, what ye speak, but if all is no’ in readiness we willnae be able ta break the bounds o’ the agreement that hold me in such…ugh…impotent form.”
“Come then, approach, and see that we ha’ complied.”
There was a thud in the shadowed recesses of the warehouse, followed by the appearance of a man walking toward the group.
Andy put Maggie on her feet and took off his belt. He held out her hands instructing her to hold them there and cinched his belt around her waist. He fussed with the folds of the fabric, making sure the wool covered the linen dress underneath. Maggie look at him, and for the first time, saw fear in his eyes.
Cormac was the first to greet the man, placing both hands over his heart he bowed low. “Greeting to ye, my lord.”
The man walked past without slowing to stand in front of Maggie. He was massive, making Andy and even Cormac look tiny…and bare-chested. Thick, corded muscle lay thick on his chest, springy dark hair trailed to the waist band of his leather pants accentuating the muscle tone of his abdominals. His arms were amply muscled too; his biceps appeared thicker than Maggie’s waist. His hair was long and dark, and a full beard emphasized his strong jaw.
He stood there waiting for something, but Maggie was unsure what. She looked at Andy, only then made aware that her mouth was hanging open.
“Kneel in front o’ yer god, girl.”
Her head whipped back to the man, and a giggle escaped her lips. “My…god?”
Andy moved behind her and forced her down bending her head toward her chest. She could feel his hands tremble as he gripped her shoulders.
She caught his meaning. God he wasn’t, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t in acute danger, so if this man wanted her to kneel, by all that was sacred, she’d assume the position.
“This slip o’ a wench will be compulsion enough?”
“Aye.” Cormac lied, and for the first time doubt crept in. He didn’t know for sure, but it was a calculated risk. There were only two weaknesses that the priestess had; this girl was one of them.
“Yer willing ta risk yer life…yer soul on this decisio
n? If I open the passage, t’is an open declaration o’ revolution.”
“What choice dae we ha’ now? We ha’come too far ta go back. I cannae traverse the realms o’ time and place with so many that canna travel by Widdershins. There has ta be a modicum o’ ability and she has none. The catalyst ta their undoing and she’s stuck in this mortal realm. We are prepared. We must declare.”
“So be it then.” Ruadan ripped open a passage. Maggie had seen just the same done in the forest glen the afternoon she was taken only from a distance. Now, she saw what lay beyond. Colorful, undulating movement and sound lured her closer, and before she had a moment to think, Andy’s hands were on her shoulders piloting her through the opening.
Chapter 21
Alex squatted by the waterside and trailed his fingers through the mirrored surface. The ripples radiated outward setting the tall waterweeds to sway on the other side. Regret filled Alex’s heart. As Reliquary he knew everything; as a man, he understood nothing. He was too callous after centuries of overzealous searching, jumping at the slightest provocation. All the women who came before, on second inspection, had nothing but overt displays of meager talent. He knew that the Lughnasadh ritual was not strong enough to bring Brenawyn’s latent abilities, however strong, to the surface because he didn’t fully understand the significance the night before. Asking permission, gods, how could he have been that stupid?
It had been so long since he felt the touch of a woman. She knew him not for who he was, but just as a man. It had been too long since anyone had looked at him like that. He romanced her with stories of old and her innocent touch set his loins on fire. He wanted nothing but to forget in her arms for a while.
Selfish.
Thinking back to the ritual, the minute she had stepped into the circle he felt the magic sizzle to life. He was surrounded by the blissfully ignorant thinking the ritual nothing but theater, but her grandmother knew the truth.
In his mind’s eye, too late to spare her, he traced the patterns down her body remembering where each color gave into the next. In her palm a rounded spiral with three arms turning toward the center, the triskele, glowed scarlet. From there what appeared to be a single green band looped and knotted around itself as it alternately passed under and over at points stopping to create a blue spiral or gold triquetra.
Oracle's Curse: Book Three of The Celtic Prophecy Page 13
