Lady of the Mountain

by Lyn Armstrong

  “Leave the lad in peace,” the oracle said, a crooked finger pointed at Torella’s chest.

  “Cease peering into my mind, hag. Your pledge is done, and I have no use for you.”

  “I have foreseen my death by your hands.” The oracle grasped both of the chair arms. “Hear me well, sorceress. Your immortality will not last.”

  “If you mean to scare me—”

  “Nae, perhaps I mean to sway you to cease your plans. Only death and sorrow will follow in the wake of your ambition.”

  Torella allowed the bubble of laughter to escape her lips. “I care not.”

  “Damn your soul to hell, Torella.”

  “By the whims of the Gods, my daughter will pay for my damnation.”

  “You would send your daughter to hell?”

  “Aye. Why else would I keep her alive all these years?” She stepped closer to the oracle and leaned over to grab the woman’s oily chin. “You should thank me.”

  Old withered eyes narrowed at her. “Pray tell why?”

  Torella released her chin and turned around.

  “In death, I will save you from growing older.”

  With the wave of her hand, Torella heard the snap of the oracle’s neck. She picked up a green apple from the table and bit into the tart and juicy fruit.

  Despite the oracle’s prophesy, this time she would succeed, and the ultimate power would be hers.

  “Why does he not wake?” Drucilla asked her unicorn, but Silas just shook his head and snorted.

  After her mother abruptly left, Drucilla remained in the chamber to sit on the bed and stare at her father. She thought the day would never come when she was in the same room as the man who sired her. Laird Phillip Roberts. Was she able to take his last name?

  Roberts.

  Lady Drucilla Roberts.

  “Good day, my name is Lady Drucilla Roberts, I am pleased to meet you.” She giggled into her hand. Her heart felt light and excited. For the first time, she felt a sense of belonging.

  She stared at his handsome features. His coloring was so fair, with light blond hair and long eyelashes. Drucilla ran her fingertips along his high brow.

  It was all so different from her own.

  “I must take after my mother’s side.”

  He stirred, and she jumped. Holding her breath, she waited for him to wake.

  But, he only shifted onto his side and fell back into slumber.

  Her shoulders slumped.

  “Silas, if he does not wake soon, I will simply have to shake him.”

  A shadow climbed along the walls, enveloping the room.

  “Finally, Mother returns.”

  No sooner where her words out, then her mother appeared beside her.

  “I told you not to use that word,” Torella growled.

  “I am sorry.”

  Torella gazed down at Phillip. Her green eyes sparkled while a smile etched on her face. Drucilla tilted her head. Did her mother hold affection for Phillip after all this time?

  “Retrieve the staff,” she ordered without taking her gaze from Phillip.

  “Why?”

  “Do not ask questions, do as I command!”

  Gathering her cream gown in her hands, she ran all the way to the upper level where the staff stood in the middle of an empty chamber.

  She hesitated. Every time she touched the staff it sent a cold tremor down her hand. Mother told her it was the staff’s way of fusing with her sorceress’ powers. Drucilla could not help but feel the staff did not want her to use its powers to amplify her own. But without the staff, she could not sustain the illusion of the palace. Whether she liked to touch the staff or not, it was necessary to use Merlin’s ancient power.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, her hand closed around the golden rod and ice shot through her veins. The light the staff generated through the roof disappeared, leaving only the glow from the enchanted metal.

  She lifted her skirts and ran out of the chamber.

  Racing down the stairs, she heard a loud, angry voice echo through the halls.

  “Where is my family?”

  Was that her father shouting? Drucilla took the stairs two at a time.

  The deep voice continued, “If you have done anything to harm…”

  In her haste, Drucilla almost tripped on the last stair, but righted herself. Turning down the hall, she pushed her legs to its limits, wanting to meet her father and see why he was so upset.

  She rushed into the chamber to find him asleep again.

  Breathing hard, she looked at her mother. “Was he not… awake… before? I vow I heard… a male voice.”

  “Nae,” her mother answered smoothly. “He has not stirred.”

  Drucilla leaned over the side of the bed. His brows were furrowed, yet he remained asleep.

  “Bring the staff over to me. I have need of your powers along with Merlin’s magick.”

  “Oh, Mothe… Torella. Please do not use my powers. It always leaves me with a headache.”

  “Cease thy whining. Do you want your father to wake or not?”

  Drucilla looked down at her father and nodded.

  “Then come here!”

  Drucilla walked over to the other side of the bed. While holding the staff, her mother touched her shoulder and searing pain shot through her head. Hundreds of tortured voices screamed in her ears until she collapsed upon the marble floor.

  Each time her mother drew on her powers, it left her weaker than the last. This time it took her a while to regain her strength before she could push to her feet.

  Rising, she found her father sitting against the bed board, his blue eyes staring unfocused at Torella.

  “Father?” she sat on the bed beside him. “Can you hear me?”

  He faced her and tilted his head in bafflement.

  “What did you do to him?” she asked her mother.

  “I have made him happy.”

  “You enchanted him by using my powers!” Drucilla’s breath burned in her throat as she glared furiously at her mother.

  “You wanted your father, did you not?” Torella shoved her hands on her hips. “Well, here he is.”

  “I did not want him to…”

  “To what?”

  “I wanted him to love me for… me.”

  Torella laughed, demeaning her feelings. Her mother walked to the window and sniffed with disdain. “Have I taught you nothing, child? Love is for fools.”

  Phillip’s voice broke through the silence. “My lady wife?”

  Torella smiled and returned to the bed. “I am here, Husband,” she replied in a sweet voice.

  She leaned over and kissed him.

  “I have missed you,” he said, wrapping his arms around her shoulders to return the kiss.

  Torella then shifted her legs over to straddle his hips and opened her gown, allowing her breasts to fall out near his face. His glazed eyes widened with lust.

  Drucilla turned in disgust and left the room. With mixed feelings, she walked down the white hallway. Was this how she wanted a family? Would her mother stay around longer now that she had a husband?

  Guilt stabbed at her chest. Perhaps, it would not be so bad to have both parents living in the same abode. After all, Phillip did look happy when she left. Who was to say his life was any better outside the mountain? Was it bad to want her father to stay for a while? At least until he got to know her better?

  Silas walked behind her and nudged her hand with his soft nose.

  Drucilla sighed. “I wish I had someone look at me the way my father looked at Mother.”

  The unicorn nibbled on her shoulder, and she jumped, giggling. “Silas, stop that.”

  They walked passed Torella’s personal chamber and Drucilla halted.

  The door was ajar.

  “That is odd. Mother never leaves her chamber unlocked.”

  Her mother warned her never to enter this room, which of course made her all the more curious. Due to either boredom or rebellion, she had tried repeatedl
y to open the door when Torella was away. It never budged. Her mother must have been in a hurry if she forgot to lock the door.

  Drucilla turned to Silas. “Since she is occupied, I see no harm in taking a quick peek.”

  The unicorn shook his great mane and tried to nudge her away from the door.

  “Silas, I am going in. Either you keep watch or leave.”

  He snorted in what seemed like disapproval.

  Drucilla frowned at him and then entered the darkened room. It smelled of spices and stale herbs. Four large chests adorned with bones and rubies lined each corner of the chamber while ancient daggers and swords hung on the walls. A tall bookcase held old books and parchments. The musty smell of the paper added to the unusual scent in the room. Her feet moved over thick rugs embroidered with naked people entwined in different positions.

  She strolled toward a long iron table; two candles sat on either side of a metallic bowl adorned with emerald stones and Celtic symbols of ancient sorcerers. Peering in, she found red liquid swirling inside. The tart scent smelled like wine mixed with dirt.

  She went to put her finger in and taste it when a vision of a man riding a horse through the snow appeared. She snatched her hand away and leaned closer.

  Even with the cloak pulled high, she could discern his appealing features. Snow flecks landed on his damp dark brown hair while his piercing hazel eyes stared miserably forward. His defined chin and aquiline nose balanced his round face, while neatly trimmed facial hair surrounded his firm, sensual lips making him look rigid and proud.

  A smoldering flame swirled in the pit of her stomach while her heart hammered within her chest. This was a man she could be intimate with—a man that would know how to kiss.

  With interest, she watched him within the enchanted bowl until he suddenly disappeared. Drucilla shook the bowl and the contents swished around, spilling onto the table.

  “What, pray tell, do you think you are doing?”

  Drucilla choked back a cry and turned to find her mother standing in the doorway.

  _

  Chapter Three

  The wooden sign swung in the windy snow. In scarlet paint, the words Machara Inn were the sweetest words he had ever read. Weary and cold, Braen halted his horse near the entrance of the two-story inn. Without waiting for a stable lad, he swung down and led his poor animal to the warmth of the nearby stables. After pulling off the saddle and seeing to the mare’s comfort, he walked through the snow with his saddlebags slung over his shoulder.

  He opened the door to the large inn to find noisy patrons filled the room, laughing and carousing. The chatter stopped abruptly when he closed the door behind him. They all looked his way as he walked further into the inn and casually leaned on the bar. He glared at them, challenging their rude stares. One by one, they glanced away and resumed their conversations. He smiled to himself. With his height and broad shoulders, he never had anyone willing to defy him. Which was just as well; he was too exhausted to hold even a goblet of ale, let alone an actual sword.

  “What will it be?” a tall, round man with red hair and beard asked him.

  “I would like a hot meal and a room for the eve.” His gaze drew beyond the innkeeper to the buxom wench with cherry-red hair. Wearing a low-cut white chemise with a dark olive corset, she bent at her plump waist to retrieve a bottle from the lower shelf, granting him a delectable view of her bosom.

  His body reacted with sudden interest, his member hardening beneath his breeches.

  Her green eyes lightened when she saw him staring. She rose slowly with seduction, a saucy smile curving her full lips.

  The innkeeper looked over his shoulder at the tempting lass. His bushy eyebrows drew together. “Keep your hands off my daughter,” he warned in a thick Scottish brogue.

  Braen’s smile fell, and he asked in a flat voice, “The room?”

  The innkeeper hesitated, then nodded. Obviously, he was more eager to take Braen’s coin than worried over the virtue of his daughter.

  “This way,” he grumbled.

  The floorboards creaked as he followed the innkeeper up the stairs.

  “I hear the Roberts clan live in these parts. Can you tell me about the Chieftain?”

  The innkeeper opened the first door on the right and waited for Braen to pass him.

  “You won’t find information here,” the innkeeper said in a gruff voice.

  “Do you not know of the clan?”

  “Aye, but folks around here do not speak with strangers about the Roberts.” Closing the door firmly behind him, the innkeeper left Braen with more questions than answers.

  Braen pursed his lips and frowned. He dropped his worn saddlebag on the floor next to the old timber chair.

  With so much fear surrounding warlocks and the like, no wonder these people did not talk of the Roberts powers. If the church discovered a Scottish noble family had mystical powers, the whole family would be executed and their clan burned for harboring their secret.

  He sat on the bed and took a deep breath then stretched his arms. He needed to find someone willing to trust him.

  Lifting his shirt over his head, he lay down and placed his arms behind his head. He stared up at the high timber ceiling and absently gazed at a spider spinning an intricate design in the corner rafter.

  The beautiful woman from his vision came to his mind. She seemed too innocent and young to be a wicked sorceress. But, he could see such beauty bewitching his father and the jester so she could steal the staff. He sighed. The lady of the mountain had Merlin’s staff, which meant they were enemies.

  He would not be weakened by her physical charms. He was not his father.

  A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

  “Enter,” he called from the bed.

  The redheaded wench sashayed into the room carrying a bedpan and a pitcher.

  Her almond-shaped eyes widened when she found him lounging casually on the coverlet, shirtless. Yielding him a smile, she said, “I will just place this pan beneath your bed.”

  Braen gave her a half smile and watched her every move. The wench was not as captivating as the lady of the mountain—but she would do.

  Bending down in front of him, the wench again revealed her full breasts. Pushing the pan under the bed, she raised her eyes level with his waist and her gaze went to the bulge in his breeches.

  The water in the pitcher splashed on the floor next to her and she leaped upwards, her face red with embarrassment.

  “I pray your pardon.” She shifted her eyes and placed the pitcher on the high chest of drawers.

  Braen rose and stood behind her, so close he could smell her extra sweet perfume.

  He placed his hands on her arms and ran them down her soft skin. With her back facing him, she trembled beneath his touch. The wench had extra weight on her, and he appreciated it. It did not matter to him what size a woman was, he found them all desirable. Short, tall, thin, and like the wench before him, curvaceous. Women were exceptional creatures, and he loved everything about them.

  Perhaps he was his father’s son after all.

  Nae! He was in control. Always in control.

  He pulled her against his body, allowing his erection to press against her round buttocks. She moaned and wiggled her backside, igniting a fire within him.

  Leaning closer to her ear, he said softly, “I would like information about the Roberts clan.” He gathered her hair away from the nape of her neck and placed a lingering kiss to the skin beneath her delicate ear.

  “’Tis forbidden to talk… oh. I like that.” Her chest rose and fell with her breathing.

  “Come now, you can trust me.” He tugged on her earlobes with his lips, his hands roaming around to cup her breasts.

  Breathless, she asked, “What would you like to know?”

  “Everything about Lairds’ Callum Roberts and Tremayne Campbell.”

  He resumed kisses upon her neck, nipping gently with his teeth.

  “They… they live with Celt
ic witches in Gleich castle, two leagues north from here.”

  “Hmm, you taste nice.” He unlaced the green corset beneath her breasts, and then covered both large orbs with his hands. Her head fell back to rest on his shoulder, her breathing increased.

  He reached into her loose white chemise and caressed her breasts. Using his forefinger and thumb, he rubbed her hardened nipples.

  “Continue…,” he said.

  “Well… Callum is a Celtic warlock and Tremayne is a sorcerer… oh that feels good,” she moaned, her hands reached around to rub against his groin. “They are both powerful, but as brothers in marriage, they do not like each other.”

  He shifted to give her roaming hands better access, his member straining in his breeches for release.

  Lifting his hand from out of her chemise, he gathered her skirt up to her waist and plunged down into her undergarment until he reached her wet feminine core.

  “Do you like me touching you here?” he asked, pressing his fingers further past her inner lips.

  “Oh… aye.”

  “Tell me, is there something they seek or want?”

  “Ah… um… Laird Phillip, the warlock’s father, is missing. Callum searches for him, but has no success.”

  “Intriguing. And the sorcerer, Laird Tremayne?”

  “I… I do not kn know…”

  Her inner cavern tightened; she was almost at her peak. Swiftly, he turned her around and kneeled. Gently pulling down her bloomers, he lifted her skirt, placed himself between her thighs, and plunged his tongue inside her. The musky essence glided across his tongue, and he groaned with exquisite pleasure.

  Beyond the thatch of red curly hairs, he gazed up at her glowing, pretty face. There was nothing like watching a woman find her zenith while his tongue lapped at her sweet entrance.

  She tilted her head back and screamed while her core pulsated around his tongue. Her hands pressed the back of his head, urging his tongue deeper into her, holding him closer while he increased the pressure.

  Her wave of pleasure receded, and she slumped her shoulders, a smile whispering across her face.

  A knock sounded on the door. The wench jumped away from him, pulling up her undergarments and patting down her skirts.

  The knock came more loudly and harder.