Dreamweaver

by Judie Chirichello

  “Mayhap?” Seerah gasped and pulled away, turning her back to him once more. “I am a witch, I tell you!"

  Tristan sighed heavily. “But, ‘tis you who needs to believe that, Seerah. Na’ I."

  * * * *

  As Brigit sat in a chair by the hearth, weaving, Egosh and Meegan stirred. Their ears perked up, and they both moved to the door. Growling low in his throat, Egosh scraped at the door. Meegan whimpered anxiously and pawed the ground.

  “What is it?” Rising, Brigit moved to the door and peered outside.

  Still growling, Egosh hunkered down low to the ground and began barking.

  “'Tis times like this that I wish you could speak, laddie.” Brigit cracked the door open slightly and squinted. “Though I see not yet, I trust your keen senses."

  A moment later, three riders appeared at the edge of the clearing. The leader was dressed in chain mail from head to toe. A young archer followed close behind. The last man, however, appeared to be a dark-haired Norman giant the likes of no man she had ever seen before.

  Brigit was about to close the door when Egosh and Meegan made their break. “Nay!” She stumbled forward as she tried to restrain the dogs, but it was too late. As the hounds raced toward the intruders, one man pointed directly at her. She hurried back inside and shut the door, leaving it only slightly ajar so she could watch. As the men drew nearer, she said a prayer for the hounds’ safety, and then one for herself.

  * * * *

  “Did you see that?” Nevil cried. “There's a woman in the cottage."

  “Aye, sir. Her ferocious hounds are heading straight for us,” Ansel replied.

  When the dogs approached, yapping and barking their warning, the horses shied.

  “You're an archer. Notch an arrow in your bow, and keep the male in your sight. But don't release it—yet. Wait for my order.” Nevil urged his mount to advance slowly. “We mean you no harm, but we will kill your hounds if they attack. We are weary travelers in need of food, water and information,” Nevil said.

  “I have naught to offer. I'm an old woman alone here, but if you bring harm to me or my pets, you'll pay dearly, for these woods are filled with spirits who protect me,” Brigit called back.

  “Another superstitious peasant,” Nevil grumbled. “You offered nourishment and shelter to the travelers who came before us. The tracks are quite fresh. I care not about your spirits. If you refuse us, I will kill your pets, then punish you severely for the grave insult you impose against me."

  * * * *

  Brigit realized she had little choice, but to comply. Though she truly believed the spirits protected her, she wasn't willing to sacrifice her dogs in order to find out the extent of their protection. As she anxiously twisted the ring Cosmo had given her, she prayed for a miracle.

  Suddenly, a lone white bird swept down from the sky and landed on top of the well. As Brigit looked down at the ring, then glanced at the bird, Seerah's words haunted her mind. White birds be a sign of good magic. "Let us hope so, indeed. Egosh, Meegan come!” Brigit pulled her shawl up over her head and stepped out from the shadows.

  The dogs whined in protest but obeyed. When they hesitantly took their place on either side of her, Brigit called out to leader, “You may have use of me well, if you wish. I've naught else to spare."

  The leader raised his spear and held it aimed on Brigit as he motioned to the other two men to advance. They urged their mounts forward until they had almost gained the well. The giant squinted at Brigit, then abruptly halted his mount, a startled look of horror seeming to freeze his expression. The archer followed suit.

  “Keep moving—you idiots.” Nevil growled, coming up on Ansel's right.

  “B-but, Sir Nevil, look! The old hag is a leper!"

  “A leper?” Nevil glared at Brigit.

  Brigit frowned. A leper? Me? She glanced curiously at her hounds. The dogs whimpered and shied away from her. Then the white bird took to the air. Brigit watched as it flew in a circle over the cottage and landed on the roof.

  Brigit didn't know for certain what was going on; either luck and the fairies were on her side, or perhaps God. At this point she didn't care. All that mattered was that the intruders thought she looked like a leper.

  “Tis a trick. Tristan and his men would never..."

  “Aye,” Brigit called. “But they would, indeed. If you know Tristan a'tall, you'd know he's as fearless as they come. He's also good and kind. Come, if you wish, and partake of me well. I can see now, that you mean me no harm.” Brigit allowed the shawl to slip further away from her face as she began to advance. “Mayhap, we can have a bit of fun as well. ‘Tis been a long time indeed since a virile man such as you has paid me a call. Care for a tumble?"

  Nevil's mount nickered and pranced skittishly. “Nay! Stay back!” He commanded. In his haste to retreat, his horse reared up, almost unseating him. “Damn Tristan! He's done it to me again!” Nevil cried.

  As they rode off the white bird took flight, following after them.

  Brigit sighed with relief, then glanced her hounds. “Egosh? Megan? Come."

  Without hesitating the hounds obeyed, their tails wagging.

  “Curious, indeed.” Brigit patted them on the head, then stared after the departing intruders. “Be safe, Seerah and Tristan."

  * * * *

  Near the outskirts of Killarney, Tristan and the warriors donned their cloaks and split up. They rode at a leisurely pace, traveling at wide intervals. Greum and Zeth went on ahead. Tristan and Seerah followed shortly after. Gareth and Colin brought up the rear.

  Despite the fact that they were Highland warriors passing through a small Irish town, it was Tristan's hope that their peaceful demeanor and small numbers would dispel the natural fear their presence would likely cause. “Keep your gaze low and do na’ speak a word unless I say so. I have no wish to shed innocent blood,” Tristan whispered to Seerah as they breached the center of town.

  Seerah nodded in reply, but as she bowed her head, she felt the certain presence of a hostile entity. Pulling her hood low over her forehead, she secretly scanned the narrow lane. She felt a small burst of relief when she saw the hind end of Greum and Zeth's horses disappear around the bend in the distance. However, uneasiness swiftly settled over her again. Clasping her amulet beneath her cloak, Seerah closed her eyes and breathed deeply. In her mind's eye, she saw a beautiful Irish maid standing in the shadows behind a cart. Seerah knew immediately that the image was a deception, for the girl's eyes glowed red like burning embers.

  When Seerah's eyelids flew open, she immediately spotted the lass standing between two tinkers’ wagons. Still clutching her amulet, Seerah began softly reciting an incantation, “Forces of good hear my plea."

  “Shush!” Tristan admonished, but Seerah ignored him.

  “Know what I know, see what I see."

  When the young woman stepped forward, she extended her hand as if to wield a dagger.

  Tristan spotted her then. He pulled harshly on his horse's reins, causing his mount to rear up. Seerah clung to Tristan, but her voice remained calm and steady as she concentrated on the girl. “Heavens above, cast the first stone. Defeat the black magic of the wicked crone."

  From out of nowhere, a bolt of lightening struck the lass. When she crumpled slowly to the ground a brilliant beam was cast from her fingertips. As Tristan kicked his mount into a gallop, the shaft shot across the lane toward a small church building where it hit a stone well. That was the last thing Seerah saw as she and Tristan barreled the rest of the way through Killarney in a swirling cloud of dust.

  “What happened?” Greum asked, when Tristan brought his mount to an abrupt halt.

  “What of Colin and Gareth?” Zeth asked.

  “What indeed!” Grasping Seerah by the chin he forced her head around. “What were you thinking!"

  “I ... I.” Seerah faltered as he painfully squeezed her chin.

  “You will cease such nonsense from here on.” Tristan glared at her. “This trick
ery of yours be dangerous. ‘Tis likely you killed that woman. And, if you did, what do you think will befall Gareth and Colin?"

  “She killed a lass? How?” Zeth gawked.

  Tristan abruptly released Seerah. “I know na’ for certain if the lass be dead, but she was struck down. Granted, the lass appeared to be a threat, but I had the situation under control until Seerah decided to employ her ... her witchery."

  “Sh-she was a crone,” Seerah stammered. “I saw the red light of her eyes. Why, if I had na’ used my powers on her, ‘tis likely we would no longer be part of this world."

  “What of Gareth and Colin? Do you think they will simply be allowed to pass through the town now? Blood will be shed for certain—mayhap, Gareth's and Colin's. What think you of that?"

  Seerah closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “I see them and they be quite safe. They approach now.” Opening her eyes, she glanced towards the curve in the road just as Gareth and Colin rounded the bend.

  They seemed to be relaxed and unhurried. In fact they were smiling as if enjoying a private jest. “You be looking frightfully dour, Tristan. What be the cause of your foul mood now?” Gareth said.

  “All is well?” Tristan put his hand on the hilt of his sword as if he expected a crush of angry people to be right behind Gareth.

  “None have followed us. In fact the people of Killarney cheered us as we passed through,” Colin boasted.

  “They cheered?” Tristan said.

  “Aye,” Colin said, glancing at Seerah. “They seem to believe our appearance had something to do with the miracle."

  “Miracle? What miracle?” Tristan frowned.

  “The holy well in front of St. Mary's church seems to have jumped across the street to the other side,” Gareth informed.

  “What of the lass?” Tristan asked. “She was struck by lightning—she must surely be dead."

  Gareth smiled. “We saw no lightening and none spoke of it, but a young lass was found crumpled to the ground near the base of the well.” He looked to Colin.

  “Aye. She was weak, but alive,” Colin agreed.

  “As we passed the site, an old woman rushed towards me and pressed her hand to my leg.” Gareth's gaze searched Seerah's. “She begged me to thank the blue-eyed angel for saving her child. She claimed that evil spirits recently possessed her daughter. She also believes the angel cured the lass by sending the holy well to her."

  Seerah trembled. “'Twas the crone, just as I suspected—a sure sign of the evil that pursues me. The crone be a spiritual being, and needs a living form to exact black magic. The lass was a changeling.” Seerah's gazed settled on Zeth. “'Tis the innocent soul the crone seeks."

  “Innocent?” Tristan chuckled. “Why, my cold, black heart and empty soul alone should be enough to fend off such a creature."

  “Mayhap,” Seerah retorted. “But, there are other evil spirits who seek such a shadowy essence. They feed on darker emotions. They use hate and vengeance to further corrupt the dwindling light of the spirit, until all that remains is the unemotional shell of a once vital being."

  “Enough!” Tristan commanded. “If we expect to gain Blarney, County Coraigh, by nightfall, two days hence, we must travel swiftly. We have a great deal of ground to cover, not to mention the treacherous Irish sea."

  “But Tristan, you and the others must be prepared.” Seerah argued. “Though I thwarted the crone this time, such spirits never die.” Seerah turned to the warriors. “The telltale sign of a crone be her glowing red eyes, but a crone can take on many forms, and can change form at any given time."

  Her somber gaze settled momentarily on each man as she spoke. “The only way to conquer the crone is to be fearless. You must never turn your back on her. When she wields her magic, you must look her in the eye to turn the spell back on her. ‘Tis what I did.” She gazed up at Tristan again. “You must allow me to prepare a poultice for you all to wear. ‘Twill keep your souls safe from various evils, especially in your slumber when you be most defenseless."

  Tristan scowled. “I must? It appears as though your pledge to obey and please me has been suddenly abandoned."

  “So it does.” Seerah glared back at him. Acting agreeable and obedient was proving to be much more difficult than Brigit had implied, and Seerah was beginning to think the task ahead impossible. But she had promised Brigit. Sighing wearily, Seerah bowed her head submissively. “If it would please you, I shall kneel at your feet and beg your forgiveness. All I ask, is that you allow me to gather a few herbs in order to prepare an adequate poultice."

  Tristan grinned like a haughty king. “If you behave ... perhaps it will please me to allow this. When we reach Blarney. But, that means no more talk of crones or trickery. Do I make meself clear?"

  “Aye. Most certainly.” Seerah smiled demurely, but she knew defiance sparkled in her heart and in her eyes.

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Beinn Dearge, Scotland

  Kendahl, Alec and eight highland warriors sat atop of their mounts along the ridge overlooking Loch Broom.

  A young scout rode up the rise, halting his mount before Kendahl. “Laird, there be exactly ten warriors. Their leader wears black robes and a hood. They should breach the ridge on the other side of the Loch any moment."

  Alec spoke next. “I see the black banner coming over the rise, now. There."

  “Hold your positions.” Kendahl said. Then to Alec, he said, “We'll soon know exactly what this Lord Viper be about."

  “Aye.” Alec nodded.

  When the strangers breached the rise, they positioned their mounts in the same manner as the highland warriors on the opposite ridge. Their leader, the man Kendahl assumed to be Lord Viper, along with one warrior, advanced slowly down the ridge toward the bank of the shallow loch.

  Kendahl and Alec did the same.

  “He appears to be but a scrawny bit of a man,” Alec observed.

  “Let not his appearance deceive you, Alec.” Kendahl narrowed his eyes. “Small creatures can sometimes offer the deadliest of threats. Though ‘tis too soon to tell for certain if this Viper be such a creature, I sense grave danger.” He and Alec halted their mounts in the water, halfway across the loch.

  * * * *

  Desruc also halted his mount in the water. He removed his hood. “I am Lord Viper."

  Neither Kendahl or Alec reacted visibly to the sight of his scarred face. Kendahl studied Desruc, as if measuring his worth, but he revealed no hint of recognition, “Aye?"

  “How should I address you?"

  “Laird."

  “Of course. As you wish. I know well who you are. I am honored, indeed.” Desruc bowed his head in mock homage.

  “Why?” Kendahl asked, pointedly.

  Desruc looked slowly up. “Your reputation precedes you. Why, you and your band of outcast warriors are well known in these parts. I admire the loyalty you earn from your men, as well as the size of the keep you manage. It is unusual for a man without birthrights to possess such a parcel."

  “You assume a great deal ... Viper."

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” Desruc ignored the deliberate omission of his own title. “But, I assume nothing. I know all about you, your men, and how you came to be at Gairloch nearly two decades ago. You overcame much adversity, and this is what has brought me to you now."

  “Go on.” Kendahl regarded Desruc with a calculating gaze.

  Desruc smiled. “Two clans wish to gain control of Lochinver Keep. I seek your assistance in forestalling them. The MacDunnas and the Macquins seek to rule the area from as far north as Durness to as far south as Glenfinnan."

  “Why seek me out? I have no dispute with either clan."

  “You have no alliance with them either."

  “Gairloch is a stronghold. The North Minch protects us to the north, west and south. All the keep walls be as mighty as my warriors. I fear no threat of invasion."

  “As it should be, I'm sure. I only wish for the same sense of security for m
y own holding. We are also protected by the Minch and our walls be mighty, yet my experience in the ways of war are limited. Your abilities and knowledge of battle are renowned, unlike my own, and I come to you humbly seeking only your guidance."

  “What, exactly, is it you expect me to do?"

  “I expect nothing.” Desruc shrugged. “It is simply my hope that we might join forces. You could survey my keep and army, and educate me as to the weaknesses in our defenses. In turn, I would pay handsomely for your sage advice. Gold, jewels, whatever supplies you desire, I will grant them. You see, my intentions are not selfish. We would each benefit equally from such an agreement."

  Kendahl frowned. “I must think on this. ‘Tis a great favor you ask of me, and a greater risk I would be asking of my men. Despite any payment you offer, if the area be as unstable as you say, ‘twould be unwise to leave my own keep at such a disadvantage."

  Desruc nodded and smiled, masking his frustration. “You are wise, indeed. This is why I seek your council. I do understand your hesitance, but do not think on this too long. If my keep is besieged, yours will surely follow. Though you would likely withstand such an attack, it is inevitable that many of your men would also lose their lives in the process. A tragedy, indeed. I will send my messenger in a fortnight. I'll expect an answer then. If you decide to aide me before then, you are welcome to come of your own accord,” Desruc bowed his head.

  “What if I decide not to aid you?"

  Desruc calmly looked the Kendahl in the eye. “Alas, I will be forced to find other means to accomplish my goal.” When Kendahl nodded in reply, Desruc reined his horse about and headed back up the rise.

  * * * *

  “What do you make of him, Laird?” Alec asked.

  “I sense something very familiar about this Viper. His eyes call to mind something purely evil.” Kendahl stared after the retreating figures.

  “You will refuse his request, then.” Alec nodded his agreement.

  “I'm not yet certain of that, Alec.” Kendahl reined his horse about. “I admit, I am quite curious about him. If only I knew how Tristan and Gareth were faring. ‘Tis taking much longer than I had hoped,” he said as he urged his mount forward up the rise with Alec at his side.