Dreamweaver

by Judie Chirichello

  Reddish-blonde streaks highlighted Tristan's brown, shoulder-length hair. Even compared to the other men his height and build seemed excessive, and the dark stubble shading his defiant chin made him appear ruthless. The added effect of low, flickering light caused his golden crown to shimmer. And as he surveyed the dimly lit room, shadows seemed to dance across his face, emphasizing his strong features. Aye, he was a menacing giant of a man, but he was also the most magnificent-looking man Seerah had ever laid eyes on.

  When Tristan finally granted his approval, with a low grunt and a nod of his head, the other warriors crossed the main-room and laid the wounded man on the table nearest the hearth.

  Tristan glanced at Lilybet. “Have you any cloth for bandages?"

  Lilybet quaked. “S-some old l-linens, mayhap."

  Tristan studied her for a moment. “'Twill do.” He nodded, again.

  Lilybet turned and hurried off.

  “We have little to offer.” Marcus relaxed his grip slightly.

  “This is a pub. A dram should do nicely. Uisge-beatha,” Tristan suggested.

  Although Marcus was barely as tall as Tristan's hip, he boldly righted his stance and glared up at the warrior. “Ya’ thievin’ Scot—why, I..."

  Tristan crossed his arms over his chest, his cold hard stare easily expressing his annoyance. “To lessen me brother's pain. And I have coin."

  Marcus held Tristan's intimidating gaze for a long, unnerving moment before glancing at the wounded man on the table. “I've no whiskey. Only ale, but ‘twill serve his pain well enough. ‘Tis in the storeroom. I'll fetch—"

  “Nay! Colin, Greum, fetch the ale,” Tristan ordered.

  The two bearded, redheaded warriors nodded in reply, and headed toward the storeroom. Meanwhile, in her haste, Lilybet stumbled over Seerah in the darkened stairwell. “Oooh!"

  Jumping up Seerah clasped her hand over Lilybet's mouth. “It's just me, Aunt."

  Lilybet nodded and took a deep breath as Seerah lowered her hand.

  “Lilybet?” Marcus said, “Are you all right?"

  “Fine I am, Marcus, me darlin'. Stumbling in the dark is all I'm about.” To Seerah she whispered, “Do you sense anything about these men, lass?"

  “I do."

  “Evil?"

  “I can na’ be certain. I must get closer."

  “Nay, Seerah. ‘Tis too dangerous."

  “Fear na', for very cautious I'll be. Have you seen Cosmo?"

  “Most likely he's hiding, as you should be. I must hurry and fetch linens. Have a care.” Lilybet squeezed Seerah's arm before she moved on.

  Seerah crept down the back hall and pushed open a hidden door in the wall. Crouching down low, she crawled a short distance through a narrow tunnel to another small door. Anticipating the certain creak of aged wood, she held her breath and pushed the second door open. When no sound came, she sighed with relief and emerged behind the bar.

  Remaining low to the ground, Seerah peered around the corner of the bar. She held her amulet in her palm and studied the bloodied man whose masculine frame practically covered the rectangle dining table.

  His skin was tanned from his auburn head to his massive feet, and he had a strong, lean frame. His face still beheld a youthful quality, and even in a state of slumber his form was a solid mass of muscle. When Seerah realized that she was ogling the injured warrior she turned her attention to the gash in his left arm. As she focused her thoughts, the amulet grew warm against her palm. The soft, glowing light of his aura suggested a pure soul, and his essence seemed familiar in an odd, but comforting way that she couldn't quite place. A calming feeling swept over her then, and she knew he would live.

  Next, Seerah turned her attention to the dark-haired, grave-looking warrior standing at the wounded man's side. Although he appeared similar in height to the wounded man, the second warrior's build was much lankier. He had smooth olive skin and boyish features. His youthful his gaze suggested compassion and worry. Seerah knew instantly that she need not fear him, so she shifted her gaze to Colin and Greum. From their wavy, fire-red hair, which hung loose about their brawny shoulders, to the length and gait of their stride, they looked practically identical; only a slight discrepancy in their height and mass suggested that the one on the left was the eldest brother. She found their obvious physical strength quite astounding, but she sensed nothing evil about them either. Taking a deep calming breath, she scanned the rest of the room to her right—until she came to Tristan.

  From a distance, the sheer size and breadth of him had been impressive, indeed. Now, however, at closer range, his mountain-like proportions were extremely intimidating. He stood a good two hands above the tallest of his companions, and the power emanating from him was staggering. Even standing with his back facing her, his imposing presence commanded her full attention.

  The amulet grew warm in her hand; her body grew languid and numb all over. She wondered how it would feel to caress his firm, tanned flesh.

  Suddenly, he turned in her direction. A dark forbidding coldness swept over her, and the amulet slipped from her hand as she stifled a gasp. Averting her eyes to the ground, Seerah took several ragged, calming breaths. When she glanced up at Tristan again, her gaze roved over the deep cleft in his jutting chin and settled on his full crimson lips. As she imagined them pressed against her own, her stomach fluttered and the sound of her heart pounding in her ears made it nearly impossible for her to think.

  When her searching gaze reached Tristan's emotionless face, she found it difficult to breathe again. He glanced at his brother, and Seerah glimpsed a hint of the true concern Tristan obviously kept well guarded. Flecks of gold seemed to twinkle in the honey-colored depths of his eyes, setting off a warm glowing light that encompassed his face. She sighed, feeling like a fanciful maiden in one of Gran's fairy tales.

  Lilybet hurried across the room and Seerah flinched, snapping out of her stupor. Squeezing her eyes shut she scooted back and covered her ears with her hands, trying to drive the strange fog from her brain. She'd never been so thoroughly enchanted by any man. When she peeked around the edge of the bar again, distrust and suspicion replaced her fascination. Enchanted, indeed. Could he be learned in the art of wizardry?

  “This is all I can spare,” Lilybet said, holding the white cloth out to Tristan.

  “Zeth, fetch me dagger,” Tristan said.

  The young dark-haired warrior, immediately moved from the wounded man's side and walked toward the door.

  “I would na’ do that if I were you,” Marcus said, rushing forward to block Zeth's path.

  Zeth reached down, grabbed Marcus by the scruff of the neck and hoisted him into the air.

  “Let me down y'bully. Let me down so I can thrash you properly, I say.” Marcus swung his cudgel at Zeth, but missed.

  “Release him, Zeth,” Tristan said.

  Zeth turned toward Tristan. “I was na’ about to harm the wee man, Tristan. I was merely moving him out of me way. ‘Twould bring ill fate to a harm leprechaun.” Setting Marcus on the floor at an arms length, Zeth turned back toward the door and continued walking.

  “Wee man? Leprechaun? Why, I—” Marcus chased after Zeth.

  “Marcus, no!” Lilybet cried out.

  Zeth stopped and looked over his shoulder as Tristan took one step forward, blocking Marcus.

  Marcus came to an abrupt halt and glanced up at Tristan.

  “A reckless man you are indeed, to chase after Zeth,” Tristan said. “You should know that if we wished it, you would already be dead.” Tristan motioned with his head for Zeth to go on about his task. “Zeth will fetch me dagger. If you choose to strike him, or any of us for that matter, be sure it be your own life you are looking to end. I do na’ believe in leprechauns. Nor do I have a liking for irritating little men."

  Lilybet advanced. “He obviously speaks the truth, Marcus. Put down your shillelagh. Exactly what were you planning to do with it anyway? Bruise his knees? Why, any one of them could squash you with their
wee little finger if they wished. Quit your foolishness, at once."

  Marcus scowled at her and mumbled beneath his breath as he set the wide, knobby end of his cane on the floor.

  Crossing her arms over her chest Lilybet issued a brief, satisfied nod. Then she glanced up at up Tristan. “Threaten us not again, Sir. Though I can see your concern for your ... brother, we are alone here. I do na’ find it so unreasonable for us to fear five Scot warriors."

  “Highland warriors,” Tristan corrected. “And, I agree, fear would na’ be an unreasonable reaction.” He stared at Lilybet as though he were trying to measure her worth.

  To Seerah's surprise, Lilybet held his gaze. Her expression suggested that she considered Tristan nothing more than an unruly child who deserved to have his ears boxed, rather than an intimidating giant three times her size. Tristan's eyes seemed to twinkle. Though his lips never curved, not even into the slightest hint of a grin, it was as if his eyes were ... smiling?

  Seerah knew from experience that such commanding men usually disapproved of bold women. Strong, handsome men liked to be in control. They usually favored comely, meek lasses, with big breasts and bottoms, who never offered strong opinions about anything more significant than the weather. Men! Despite her growing angst at the male population in general, however, Seerah had to admit that she felt no evil influences surrounding Tristan, or any of his men.

  Also, the warriors had offered no clear signs of open hostility, yet.

  But there was still a distinct possibility that Tristan had cast a mesmerizing spell on her to keep her from sensing any danger. When she'd first laid eyes on Tristan she'd experienced a dark, chilling sense of desolation. Though the feeling had been fleeting, it was difficult to know if the experience had been a foretelling sign, or merely her own fear projected back at her. All she knew for certain was that there was something dark and foreboding about the handsome, stone-faced warrior which left her feeling quite leery indeed.

  Zeth returned with his dagger just as Greum exit the storeroom carrying a small cask.

  “Where be Colin?” Tristan asked Greum, but his gaze remained fixed on Lilybet.

  “We came across a rat, in the store room,” Greum said.

  Lilybet gasped, her gaze searching out Marcus.

  Marcus lifted his cudgel. “Why I—"

  “Fear na', Colin seized him,” Greum said.

  “Cosmo!” Seerah shot up from behind the bar like a tightly strung arrow.

  Her worry over the welfare of her troublesome pet abruptly changed to fear for her own safety as the warriors swiftly reacted to her surprise appearance. Her eyes went wide with alarm at the sight of the gleaming dagger Zeth was prepared to cast in her direction.

  Seerah silently cursed her impetuous actions—then prayed for her life.

  * * *

  Chapter Seven

  In the blink of an eye, Tristan relieved Zeth of the dagger he'd been prepared to release. “Nay, Zeth. ‘Tis just a harmless peasant wench."

  Seerah's shoulder's sagged with relief for a brief moment before Tristan's words struck a chord. Pinning him with a look of open hostility, she cocked her brow and arrogantly lifted her chin in silent protest.

  “A saucy lass with a fondness for rats, it appears,” Tristan commented.

  “Why, I never! You ... I ... You—” Seerah sputtered.

  “Silence!” Tristan demanded, dismissing her with a turn of his head. “Tear the cloth, Zeth. Greum, feed Gareth the ale. We must tend his wound."

  Stunned, Seerah stood there blinking, with her mouth hanging open like a witless fool.

  Suddenly, Colin exited the storeroom holding Cosmo by the scruff of the neck. “What kind of rodent do you suppose this be, Tristan?” he said. “A weasel, mayhap?"

  When Cosmo squirmed and chattered in protest, Seerah skirted around the bar and rushed forward. “You're hurting him. Give him to me. There be no need to harm him.” She grabbed for him.

  Colin raised his arm and held the ferret high out of her reach. “No need to harm a rodent?"

  Seerah huffed. “Ferret! He's me pet. He's quite tame as well, don't cha know? And there's no need a'tall for a big strapping man like you to harm him—unless ... well, unless you have an unnatural fear of small creatures. Is that so? Do you fear mice as well?"

  Colin glared at her. “Mighty sassy you are, for such a scrawny bit of goods. Why you're nothing but a saucy, peasant wench.” Colin spat on the ground near her feet.

  Seerah clenched her fists at her sides and scowled up at him.

  “Nay, Seerah!” Lilybet cried, just as Seerah's boot made contact with Colin's shin.

  Colin didn't even flinch. He simply seized Seerah by her upper arm, with his free hand, and lifted her off the floor.

  Seerah grimaced. “Och! Unhand me you filthy, damnable ... you swaggerin’ Scot brute. You're hurting me. You ... why, you've all the manners of a ... a lowly Norse raider!” She swung at him with her free hand and kicked her flailing feet in the air.

  “I ought to put a hand across you insolent backside, then soap your mouth,” Colin threatened, as Zeth and Greum advanced.

  Lilybet wrung her hands. “But she speaks the truth. Cosmo be her pet and he's quite harmless. Why, she was only trying to protect him."

  Marcus took advantage of the opportunity and rushed over toward Gareth.

  “Release her, now,” Marcus said, glaring at Colin. “Or I'll smash a hole in his head as big as your blatherin’ mouth.” He held his club high over Gareth's head.

  “Enough!” Tristan said, his eyes settling on Marcus. “Step away from me kinsmen before I lose me patience completely."

  “Tell him to unhand me niece first,” Marcus said. “For I've very lil’ patience left meself."

  Tristan glanced at Colin and nodded. “Release her and give her the rat. Zeth, Greum, leave off. We're wasting valuable time."

  Colin lowered Seerah to the floor and released her with a shove. His features creased into a menacing-looking scowl as he dropped Cosmo into her hands.

  When Cosmo scurried up Seerah's arm to her neck, she screwed up her face and quickly stuck her tongue out at him.

  “Why I—” Colin took a step forward.

  “Leave off, Colin!” Tristan ordered. “She's na’ worth the trouble."

  “Aye, but a sound thrashing to curb her insolence would be no trouble. ‘Twould be a pleasure, indeed, by my thinking,” Colin replied.

  “Another time, perhaps. Gareth's health comes before your pleasure.” Tristan motioned with his head for Colin to proceed toward the table.

  As Zeth, Greum and Colin advanced, Marcus backed slowly away from Gareth.

  Tristan simply grunted at Seerah before turning to Lilybet. “Have you a needle and thread?"

  Lilybet nodded. “Aye. Seerah fetch—"

  “Nay! She stays where I can see her. I have no liking for her, nor the fact that you lied about being alone."

  “She's but an unwed gel. It would have been unwise of me, indeed, to alert five strange men to her presence."

  Tristan glanced at Seerah again. He actually grimaced, as though he found the mere sight of her revolting. “Fear na',” he said. “Her, uh ... virtues be quite safe from us. Fetch the needle, wench, but be quick about it."

  Seerah just stood there staring back at Tristan. She couldn't help feeling violated somehow. She knew her appearance left much to be desired, but his appraisal and dismissal had been humiliating—as though he considered her less than human because of her looks. “Of all the—"

  “'Tis na’ the time, Seerah,” Lilybet interrupted. “The man's wound is deep. He needs you."

  When Seerah glanced at Gareth, compassion swiftly cooled her rancor. “Aye.” She sighed and nodded. Walking over to the bar, she set Cosmo on the counter. “Behave yourself,” she said. Looking back over her shoulder, she glared at Tristan, once, for good measure, before exiting the room.

  * * * *

  Lilybet glanced up at Tristan, an apologetic-lo
oking expression wrinkling her face. “You must forgive me niece."

  “Must I, now?” Tristan said. He couldn't help feeling that there was more going on here than met the eye. “By me own thinking, I'd have to agree with Colin. She deserves a sound thrashing."

  Marcus shifted his weapon in his hands. “I ought to—"

  “Marcus. Put that thing away,” Lilybet said, “If they meant to harm us, they surely would have by now. Put it o'er on the bar."

  “But—"

  “Now, I say!"

  Marcus frowned, then headed for the bar, grumbling beneath his breath and dragging his shillelagh behind him like a scolded child.

  “You trust us, then?” Tristan asked Lilybet.

  “Not likely. But, I fear not for our safety. The only thing I trust, is that the sooner your ... brother be mended, the sooner you'll be leaving."

  “You'll help then?"

  Lilybet nodded. “Aye. If I can."

  “Can you sew?"

  “Not as fine as I once could. Me poor sight fails me, I'm afraid."

  “'Tis more than I can offer. ‘Twill have to do."

  “Not necessarily. Me niece ... uh, Seerah, is superb with a needle and—"

  “Nay.” Tristan scowled.

  “But she's quite skilled, indeed."

  “Skilled or no, she's an impertinent, foul-mouthed crone. She lacks discipline and manners, and I'll na’ have her laying her filthy hands on—"

  “Ahem!” Seerah cleared her throat, from across the room, gaining everyone's attention. “Though it be quite obvious you find me inferior to horse dung, your shallow opinion has nothing do with the matter. I'm a learned healer."

  Tristan glared at her, hoping to instill a fitting amount of fear in her insolent gray eyes. Much to his surprise, however, Seerah sighed wearily instead. Next, she tilted her head and smiled like a patient mother trying to pacify a contrary child.

  “I sew straight and true,” she said. “I have a strong stomach as well. It goes against me nature to mistreat others, especially the weak and injured."

  Tristan didn't reply. Instead he scrutinized her more closely. The oversized, black mobcap covering her head made her head and ears look too large for her oval face. It contained her hair in such a manner that except for a few stringy strands hanging loose in her face, she looked to be completely bald. Her eyes were a strange colorless shade of gray. Her face appeared gaunt and aged well beyond her supposed youth; her ashen complexion reminded him of week-old porridge. As for the color of her teeth, brackish marsh water was the only description that came to Tristan's mind. The dingy, saffron frock she wore was practically threadbare, and it hung from her frame as if it were three sizes too large.