As a rule, Tristan distrusted all females because of their fanciful, emotional tendencies. He was also well aware of their seductive, feminine wiles and conniving ways. He'd seen first hand how easily an intelligent man could be turned into a feeble-minded imbecile beneath the allure of a bonny lass. The less-appealing ones simply had to be more clever. Aye, he'd decided long ago that for the most part their usefulness was limited to child bearing and warming his bed. Not Seerah, though. She was easily the most unsightly lass he'd ever laid eyes on.
She was also the most foolhardy, insolent lass he'd ever met. He had to admit, however, that she intrigued him. Her boldness surprised him for one who appeared to be quite meek and frail at first glance. He fully understood why she was not yet wed; she had fearlessly risked her scrawny neck for a rat, and she had stood up to Colin. Is she brave and clever? More likely she's a simpleton, Tristan mused, offering her a smug, disapproving grunt.
Seerah rolled her eyes with apparent indignation. The sigh that followed was clearly one of exasperation. She strolled slowly forward then, her body seeming to glide across the room like a feather floating on the wings of a breeze. “I brought a mixture of woodworm and ground ivy to cleanse his wound,” she said. “I also made a poultice of equisetum—common horsetail, if you will. ‘Twill keep the wound from becoming infected. Some ribbed melilot and comfrey will help the healing process."
Her voice sounded thick and smooth. Her lilting brogue seemed almost melodic and comforting—no, enchanting.
“Do you wish me to tend him?” Seerah asked.
Tristan flinched, startled by her sudden closeness. He'd been so entranced by her voice that he hadn't noticed her approach. Very curious, indeed.
“Do you?” Seerah said.
Instead of replying, Tristan frowned down at her. Next, he walked over to stand by Gareth's side. Zeth and Greum stood opposite Tristan, with Colin guarding Gareth's head.
“Well?” Seerah said.
As Tristan looked at her again, an odd thought crossed his mind. Looks can be deceiving. Though he was reluctant to entrust Gareth's well being to such a contrary lass, her knowledge and concern seemed genuine enough. Besides, she was all he had at the moment.
“Mercy!” Seerah said. “I will na’ harm him.” She moved closer and looked directly up at Tristan. “How much ale has he taken?"
It was then Tristan noticed that her eyes weren't the least bit gray. They were actually the loveliest shade of lavender he'd ever seen; something in their depths left him feeling totally disarmed. He found himself wondering how she had acquired the crescent-shaped scar near her right eyebrow. What would she do if I brushed me lips over it? Would she swoon? Or spit fire?
“Well?” Seerah prompted.
Tristan blinked, startled by the troubling direction his thoughts had taken.
“How ... much ... ale ... has ... he ... taken?” Seerah repeated slowly, as though speaking to a half-wit.
Tristan tore his gaze from her and looked to Greum. “How much?"
“Na’ much a'tall.” Greum shook his head wearily.
Tristan turned to face Seerah again, only to find that she had already shifted her full attention to Gareth. Narrowing his gaze, Tristan tried to assess the sincerity of her concern for Gareth's welfare. When Tristan noted the warm, affectionate look in her eyes, a strangely familiar pang of annoyance twisted his gut. Jealousy?
The simple notion took Tristan by surprise. “Impossible!"
“I beg your pardon?” Seerah asked, scrunching her face into a quizzical frown.
The sight made Tristan grimace. Jealous, indeed! He grunted as if to accent the thought.
“Does that mean you wish me to tend him or no?” Seerah said.
“What I wish? Nay. But simply what I must settle for."
“I see.” Seerah dismissed him with a turn of her head. “The draught of elderberry and chamomile should ease his pain and help him rest."
Her soft-spoken words seemed more like verbal thoughts rather than conversation directed at anyone in particular, but Tristan listened and watched her closely. She touched the back of her hand to Gareth's forehead. “He's fevered, but na’ overly much. The draught will help with that as well.” Next, she laid her right hand on Gareth's chest and bent her head low, bringing her ear close to his mouth. “Even in his breathing. A good sign, indeed."
Her familiarity with herbs and healing practices eased Tristan's concerns. He also found her warm, caring nature reassuring. Her sensible manner and her obvious ability to reason forced Tristan to acknowledge her skill.
He couldn't help admiring her confidence and proficiency. And as he watched her tend Gareth, something deep inside of Tristan yearned to experience her gentle touch.
When Gareth's eyelids fluttered opened, his glazed eyes shifted with alarm and he jerked away from Seerah. “What? Who?” He winced.
“Hold him still before he injures himself further,” Seerah ordered.
Before Tristan could react, Greum leaned across Gareth's legs. Colin forced Gareth's shoulders down, and Zeth took hold of Gareth's good arm.
Seerah gently touched Gareth's injured arm and peered into his eyes. Her tranquil expression seemed almost reassuring, like she was trying to communicate some secret message without actually speaking.
“St. Columba!” Gareth said. “The fair and fulsome angel of death has come to take me away."
Seerah grimaced. “Oh, dear. P-please be calm, Sir. I mean to cause you no harm, truly.” She removed her hand from his chest, acting as if she was somehow responsible for his distress. Almost immediately her worried expression changed into a look of stunned fascination as if a brilliant idea had just occurred to her. Next, leaning down low, she gently touched Gareth's hand and whispered in his ear.
The fear in Gareth's eyes vanished and he breathed deeply one last time, before closing his eyes. “Lovely. Aye, very lovely you are, indeed."
“What did you say to him?” Colin practically roared.
Everyone flinched, including Tristan.
He realized, suddenly, that he'd been standing there, just staring at Seerah as if caught in some kind of trance. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, then glared at Seerah.
“I find it comforting to see how well you trust me.” Seerah granted each warrior a stern look which obviously meant to let them know they'd insulted her. Then she fixed Colin with a glare of pure animosity. “For your information, I told him to fear me na'. I also assured him that I was na’ the angel of death, but merely a human lass interested in seeing him well again. His fever makes him hallucinate."
“Apparently.” Colin snorted. “Fair and fulsome me ars—."
“Colin,” Tristan admonished.
Seerah graced Colin with an impudent-looking smirk, before turning her attention to Tristan. “I fear that what I'm to do next, will cause him much pain."
Tristan's frown deepened to a scowl.
Seerah scowled right back. “It is na’ of me doing, just what is! And you will likely have to hold him again when I begin cleansing his wound. If you wish me to tend him a'tall, that is!"
Her bold stance and biting tone stunned the bluster right out of Tristan. Why, if the circumstances hadn't been so grave, he might have actually laughed at her foolish insolence. Instead, he gazed at Gareth. He nodded and glanced up at her, again “Begin. But, know that we'll be watching you."
“Och!” Raising her hands in the air, she gestured like a fishwife berating her husband. “How could I na’ know that with four pairs of eyes boring into me flesh like poisoned daggers?” With an angry huff, she grabbed the bowl of woodworm and ground ivy and wet some of the torn linen.
Next, she took a deep steadying breath and exhaled, as if calming herself. And when she began applying the solution to Gareth's arm, she did so with meticulous care.
Gareth moaned and tried to pull away.
“Hold him,” Tristan said.
Zeth, Colin and Greum swiftly obeyed.
Cosmo jump
ed from the bar to the floor and scurried across the room. The movement drew Tristan's attention and he watched as the ferret climbed up the back of Seerah's skirts to her shoulders.
“The rat's back,” he said.
“Ferret,” Seerah said, without looking up. “And, Cosmo will cause less mischief if he's near me.” She inclined her head, allowing Cosmo to settle about her neck.
Tristan studied the ferret.
When Cosmo twitched his nose, appearing to wink, Tristan accepted the gesture as a natural reflex. However, when the ferret winked again, this time appearing to smile, Tristan blinked and shook his head with disbelief. He leaned closer, to better study the animal, but Cosmo had already cuddled against Seerah's neck and closed his eyes.
“You must be hungry,” Lilybet said. “Marcus and me'll fix you something to eat."
Tristan grunted in reply and continued scrutinizing Cosmo until Seerah began sewing Gareth's arm. He then tore his gaze from the ferret and moved in closer, peering over Seerah's shoulder to get a better look.
When his chest casually brushed Seerah's shoulder, her back stiffened and her head jerked up. She glanced at Tristan, a startled-looking expression played across her face and anxiety seemed to dance in her eyes.
“What's wrong, now?” he said.
“Uh ... n-nothing,” Seerah said, hastily averting her gaze to Gareth's wound.
Tristan seized her arm. “Do na’ lie to me!"
Seerah gasped. Her eyes slammed shut and her body grew rigid. “This man, Gareth,” she said. “Though you call him brother, you be na’ related by blood."
“Seerah!” Lilybet cried.
“Silence!” Tristan said, and he shook Seerah. “How do you know this?"
“I see it,” Seerah replied.
“Release her. Now!” Lilybet said, rushing forward from across the room. Tristan ignored Lilybet and shook Seerah again. “What does this mean, you see it?"
Lilybet slapped, in vain, at Tristan's elbow. “You called him brother, but he's got blue eyes while yours be brown. His hair is dark while yours is light. Though you are built similar, your coloring is contrary, and your features share no strong resemblance. ‘Tis simple to see that. Now, release her. For the love of God, you'll crush her bones!"
The truth of Lilybet's words seeped into Tristan's brain and he relaxed his grip, then abruptly released Seerah.
Seerah stumbled forward, grasping the edge of the table to steady herself.
“Seerah?” Lilybet said.
Tristan observed the bewildered look lighting Seerah's eyes as she massaged her arm and glanced at Lilybet.
“What of your arm?” Lilybet asked, raising her eyebrows in a manner that suggested she wanted to know much more.
Tristan remained silent and watched.
“Me arm?” Seerah glanced from Lilybet to Tristan and finally to Colin, her bemused expression changing to a look of open hostility. “'Twill more likely be bruised black and blue on the morrow. Thanks to these two, kindly and gentle men."
Colin glared at her.
Amused by the anger and resentment that seemed to radiate from her person like heat from a blazing fire, Tristan cast her a sidelong glance
“I warn you now,” Marcus said, glancing about the room like he expected God to strike him down. “I'll not be held responsible for what happens if you lay another hand on her."
“Quiet yourself, Marcus,” Lilybet said.
“And what, exactly, will happen if I choose to lay a hand on the lass?” Tristan said.
“Do na’ mind me uncle's ramblings,” Seerah said. “He's simply unaccustomed to your odd form of gratitude.” Her lips curled momentarily into a sneer, then she turned her attention to Gareth. A long moment passed in silence before Seerah spoke again. “How did he come by such a wound?"
“"Tis na’ your concern,” Tristan said.
“If danger follows you here, ‘tis surely our concern,” Lilybet argued.
“We bring no danger to your door."
Seerah looked up at Tristan. “The men who did this obviously wish him dead. We simply wish to know who they be. How far they be now? And how many be in their party?"
Colin slammed his fist against the table and said, “'Tis na’ your concern, wench!"
Seerah jerked her head in his direction. “Me name is na’ wench! Nor is it saucy, or peasant. ‘Tis Seerah. You'll do well to remember that in the future. And, I believe the question I asked deserves an answer.” She pinned him with a scathing glare.
Colin's eyes seemed to glaze over, like those of a man with a deadly fever. Then he began to speak, his words coming out in a rush, “An army of men attacked us just outside of Dingle. Though we were sorely outnumbered, we prevailed. A dozen or so remain, and Bram the Bold be their chief, but they've joined with Sir Nevil the Wild. They pursue us on our quest to locate—"
“Colin!” Tristan's roar-like shout started everyone—everyone, except Colin. Though he stood silent now, his trance-like gaze remained fixed on Seerah. Zeth stood frozen, his eyes wide with apparent wonder. Greum's sober expression suggested disapproval and apprehension as Seerah and Lilybet exchanged a curious, amazed look, like they were questioning each other and praising some startling achievement at the same time.
“Colin?” Tristan bid.
Colin blinked and shook his head. “Huh?"
Tristan frowned. “Your tongue runs away from you. ‘Tis na’ like you."
“She ... I...” Colin scratched his head. “I do na’ know what came over me, Tristan."
“Neither do I. But do na’ let it happen again."
Colin cast Seerah a wary glance. “Aye."
Tristan also looked at Seerah. “And you, keep your curiosity to yourself,” he said.
“I only wished to know—"
“What you wish to know be of no concern to me!” Tristan walked over and stood directly in front of Seerah. He looked deep into her gray eyes. Gray eyes? He scowled, certain that they had been lavender just moments ago. Keeping his tone deceptively calm, he said, “We will soon be gone from here. The sooner the better. ‘Tis all you need to know."
“As you wish.” Seerah sighed and bowed her head as if to resign.
“I do na’ know what you be up to,” Tristan said. “But when I find out—"
“Up to? Me?” Seerah glanced innocently up at him.
Her innocent demeanor didn't fool Tristan. Nor did the look sparkling in her fiery green-eyed gaze. Green eyes? How can that be? Tristan blinked and shook his head.
“Seerah!” Lilybet shouted.
Seerah grimaced like a guilty child. “Aye?"
Tristan noticed, almost instantly, that Seerah's eye-color appeared to be gray again. Nothing more than the dim candlelight playing tricks with me sight. He glanced suspiciously from Seerah to Lilybet. Or is it?
Lilybet wrung her hands, responding to Tristan's intense scrutiny with a withering smile. “Have you already prepared the draught, Seerah?” she asked simply, but to Tristan her tone and expression seemed to convey a sense of caution.
Seerah nodded. “Indeed I have, but—"
“Then, be about the task of healing the young man so they may be on their way,” Lilybet said.
“But he will na’ be able to travel for a day, at least,” Seerah said, “Mayhap longer. If he survives a'tall, that is. ‘Twould, indeed, be helpful to know if—"
“If he survives?” Tristan took a step closer, crowding Seerah.
She recoiled, but didn't back away. “I'm a healer, na’ a god!” she shouted back at his chest, then glanced up.
Tristan stood so close to her that she had to crane her neck to glare back at him. When she did, her rancor suddenly vanished. “His ... his wound ‘tis deep,” she said. “But I vow to do all I can for him. If all goes favorably, he should be well enough on the morrow. Me reference to his condition was only speculation. He's very weak. ‘Tis also quite obvious that the men who did this, wish him dead. If they be following you, surely me concerns be—"<
br />
“Silence!” Tristan bellowed.
Seerah squeezed her eyes shut, visibly bracing herself against the intensity of his fervor. She actually looked as though she expected him to strike her.
Tristan breathed deeply trying to control his increasing rage. Aye, he was angry, but he'd never struck a woman. Did she actually believe him to be a man without honor? The mere thought was beyond insulting, so he just stood there waiting for her to realize her error. When Seerah finally peeked her eyes open again, she cocked her head and frowned at Tristan, as if she was questioning his faculties. “You say we need na’ fear these men. Yet you run from them. Why?"
“I run from no one!” Tristan said, his voice quaking with conviction.
A smile curved Seerah's lips. “You'll be staying then?"
Tristan almost grinned at the hint of unspoken challenge sparkling in her lavender gaze.
Instead, he blinked. Lavender eyes.
* * *
Chapter Eight
Despite Marcus's vehement opposition, and against Tristan's better judgment, the warriors moved their scarce belongings inside. As they set up camp on the floor surrounding Gareth, Lilybet saw Seerah to her room.
Up in the loft, Seerah plopped down on her bed and transferred Cosmo from her neck to her lap. “You trust them Aunt?"
“Trust must be earned.” Lilybet lit a rush light. “But, I fear not for our safety if that be what you're be looking to know."
Seerah nodded and stroked Cosmo's fur.
Lilybet sat next to Seerah on her bed. “You caused the man, Colin, to speak with your mind. ‘Tis a good sign of things to come."
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