Tristan took her hand and kissed her fingertips. “I took you as me wife, Seerah. We did nothing wrong."
Seerah sighed. “We are not married, Tristan. Simply saying you wish to be married, does not make it so."
“In the Highlands it does."
“We are not in the Highlands, yet."
“You are mine, Seerah. By Highland law. ‘Twas a hand fast marriage contract, legal for one year from this day."
Seerah pulled her hand free from his grasp. “You can na’ be serious!"
“Oh, but I am."
“And what, exactly, happens one year from this day?"
“Either one of us can cancel the contract, of course. Any children we beget, however, will be mine."
“Children?” Seerah shoved Tristan from her and scrambled to her feet. When Tristan stood as well, she covered herself with his plaid.
“Do you not wish to bear children?” Tristan said.
“Nay. I mean ... I do ... someday.” She coughed then, a deep rattling cough that made her grimace.
“Good.” Tristan walked over to where her clothes lay on the ground. “Your gown is still wet. We'll have to go back to camp where we can dry it and warm you by a fire."
“'Tis madness! We are na’ married."
“Aye. We are.” Tristan walked back to Seerah.
Before she could react he wrapped her in his plaid and lifted her in his arms.
“W-what?"
“I'm taking you back to camp."
Seerah gasped. “B-but, you're naked."
“Aye. That I am."
“What of your men? What will they think?"
“Nothing, once we tell them that we're married.” Tristan exited the cave and headed off through the woods.
“Faith and beggorah!” Seerah cried, hanging her head in despair.
* * * *
When they arrived back at the campsite, Tristan walked over to the fire. Without a word to his men, he lowered Seerah to the ground. “Warm yourself, wife.” He walked over to the horses and retrieved two heavy fur mantles.
“Wife?” Gareth practically choked on the word. “You be married?” he asked Seerah.
Seerah shrugged. “Tis a possibility."
“Did you agree to take him as your husband?” Colin asked.
“Aye. That I did ... but—"
“And Tristan agreed to take you as his wife?” Greum asked.
“I did,” Tristan said. He draped one cloak about Seerah and the other around himself.
“Did you—” Zeth gulped.
“Well of course they did, lad,” Greum chuckled. “She's wearing his plaid. And they both look ... well pleased. Why else do you think that might be? Aye. Tristan married her well and good, by my thinking."
“Aye,” Colin agreed. “Why, he could not have honored his vow to protect her virtue if he'd bedded her without being married. And from the blush on Seerah face, she's been bedded quite proper, indeed!” Colin winked and elbowed Zeth in the ribs. “Good work, Tristan."
Tristan nodded and puffed out his chest, a look of arrogant pride gleamed in his eyes as he gazed at Seerah.
Seerah simply groaned and buried her head in her cloak.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lochinver Keep
When Desruc returned to his fortress his foul mood grew even darker. His emissary, Sir Nevil, had not yet returned and Desruc was growing anxious for news about the girl. He strode angrily through the castle doors. “Get me my crystal. Now!” he ordered, tossing his black cape at a nearby serving wench.
Her eyes alight with fear, the hunchback crone hurried to do his bidding.
Desruc laughed; the evil sound echoed through the main hall as he swiftly climbed the stairs leading to his altar. Sitting in his jeweled throne, he impatiently drummed his fingers against the finely carved, wooden arms. When the crone returned a moment later, she was carrying a wooden slat. A dark purple velvet cover protected the priceless crystal beneath, and the crone's hands trembled visibly as she approached the altar. Her foot missed the first step, and she stumbled forward slightly.
“Drop it, and a painful hump growing out of your back will not be the last torture you endure!” Desruc shouted.
Quickly righting herself, the crone ascended the steps and laid the slat across the arms of the throne, creating a table-like surface. “M-My Lord.” She curtsied low.
“Leave me, now.” Desruc hissed.
In her haste, the crone turned too quickly. Her slipper caught the hem of her skirts and she tumbled down the stairs, landing face-first against the stone floor. When she raised her head, blood seeped from her nose.
“You stupid, clumsy fool,” Desruc bellowed. “Allow one more drop of your blood to fall and I'll cover your body with leeches until they drain you completely. And clean the mess you've made as you take your leave. Now!"
Swiftly pulling her cap from her head, the crone pressed it hard against her face to staunch the bleeding. Still on her knees, she crawled from the room wiping the floor with her skirts.
Desruc chuckled wickedly. Next, taking a deep, relaxing breath, he removed the velvet cover from the crystal. When he peered into the glass orb, the first image he saw was Nevil's mail-clad form sinking into the ocean. Desruc scowled, knowing that his chances of finding the girl would decrease without the knight, but there wasn't enough time for him to interfere.
Such spells took time, a commodity which Desruc lacked. The time of reckoning grew nearer with each passing moment. If he didn't locate the girl and combine powers with her before the next full moon, she could easily become too powerful for him to conquer; the prince of darkness would not take kindly to such failings.
Next came visions of Kendahl. Although he had proved to be most disagreeable during their meeting, the crystal revealed that the stubborn Scot would be the least of Desruc's worries. The girl was on her way to him. She would bring Kendahl, and ... another. Desruc smiled to himself, relishing this information. A sundry of soldiers will certainly accompany them. He nodded thoughtfully. His pleasure remained undaunted, however, because he knew that his most hated rival would soon be in his clutches. Desruc caressed the crystal as if it were his lover. “Yes, you survived, but more's the pity little brother. Soon you will be at my mercy again. Only this time, you will die beneath the fury of my unforgiving hand. Ah yes, you will pay dearly, Tristan."
* * * *
Two days after her soggy misadventure, and her marriage to Tristan, Seerah and the warriors boarded the wayfaring ship Tiraslee. The days and nights since had passed without further mishap. Seerah's cough had diminished completely by the second night and she was feeling quite fit, except for the nagging feeling of dread plaguing her spirit.
She'd experienced the sense of doom the moment she boarded the Tiraslee, but she'd paid little heed to the warning. Due to her experience aboard ship years ago, during the Norse attack, it seemed natural that traveling by ship would play havoc with her nerves. Tonight, however, sitting alone in the dark, unable to sleep, she sensed the threat of danger with every fiber of her being. Something evil lingered in the atmosphere; an encompassing, oppressive, dark energy seemed to threaten the very core of her existence.
Being confined to her cramped quarters below deck only made matters worse. She understood why she wasn't allowed above deck—the warriors had enough to worry about without her getting in the way. Unfortunately, Cosmo had also deserted her soon after they'd boarded the ship. Seerah hadn't seen him since, and when she tried to call upon her powers, her efforts proved meager at best.
Her thoughts turned to Tristan—visions of their lovemaking seemed to plague her mind. She desired him like nothing she'd ever desired before in her life. Although he had barely touched her since, she knew he still wanted her as well; the air between them fairly crackled with energy whenever he drew near. He was simply much better at controlling his emotions and desires, and of ignoring the yearning for physical pleasure.
In fact, Tristan had put as much s
pace between them as possible. For the most part, he stayed above deck, keeping company with his men or the ship's crew. Whenever Seerah drew near, his expression turned grim. He seemed to go out of his way to avoid her, completely ignoring her, as if he resented her presence. Her only comfort came from her visits with Gareth and the other warriors, and the knowledge she always gained from them about how Tristan was growing more sullen and moody with each passing day.
Aye. He misses me, indeed. Seerah smiled to herself, then closed her eyes and tried to rest. She was sound asleep when the vision finally came to her; she saw a man dressed in shimmering mail. A wild boar decorated the nasal plate on his helmet. He was aboard a Norse ship. By his side stood a dark-haired Norman giant.
Seerah woke with a start and rushed to dress, oblivious to the noise she was making as she stumbled about in the dark. When she finally opened the door to her cabin, Tristan was standing there with his dagger drawn, looking as if he were prepared to break down the door.
“Oh!” Seerah jumped back, startled.
Tristan grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the small passageway. After a discriminating glance inside her cabin he said, “You make enough racket to wake the dead. I thought you were being assaulted."
“I had a dream. I must go..."
“You are na’ going anywhere. ‘Tis too dangerous.” Tristan stood unmoving before her.
“But, I felt Nevil's presence. I must go..."
“You will stay here until I say otherwise.” Tristan commanded.
Just then, the warning sounded. “We're under attack!"
Tristan glared at Seerah.
“'Tis Nevil. I'm certain."
“Move!” Tristan grabbed Seerah's arm and hauled her behind him. When they gained the upper deck, the Tiraslee's crew was running about in a state of panic.
Circling her waist with his right arm Tristan held Seerah close by his side as he studied the enemy vessel. Seerah saw a lone warship drawing nearer, toward the stern of the Tiraslee. Closing her eyes she grasped her amulet in her left hand and began to chant, “Heaven and earth, sea and wind, obey me will to defend. Fire and brimstone, thunder and quake, obey me plea for all our sake."
“Seerah!” Tristan shook her. “I'm taking you below deck. You will lock the door and stay there ‘til I come for you. Do you understand?"
With her eyes still closed, Seerah wagged her head in denial, then whispered, “Hurl churl, fling and flail, I cast me curse upon the man in mail.” Opening her eyes she extended her arm in the direction of the approaching enemy ship.
An explosion rent the air as the ship was struck by a lone streak of lightning. Some of the crew were cast overboard from the force of the blow, and a fire erupted on the deck.
“There.” Seerah pointed, drawing Tristan's attention to a gleaming streak flying through the sky. A horrified cry filled the air, then the mail-clad body hit the murky surface of the water and sank. “'Twas Nevil. I'm certain,” Seerah said.
The wind began swirling like a cyclone, pitching the Tiraslee forward.
“Hold on!” Tristan yelled. Then, forcing Seerah between his body and the rigging, he held on with all his might. The bow crashed against the churning sea with such shattering force that anything, including crewmen who weren't secured, tumbled across the deck like debris.
Seerah knew she had to do something. Struggling against Tristan's binding hold she worked her hand free and gained hold of her charm.
“Be still!” Tristan commanded. “You've caused enough trouble already."
Ignoring him Seerah closed her eyes. “Winds of warning blow smooth and calm, guide us gently without fear of harm. Ocean tides I beg of thee, carry us safely across the sea,” she whispered.
“Stop that!” Tristan shouted, trying to grasp the amulet from her. Suddenly, the wind grew less punishing and the sea quelled. The Tiraslee sailed smooth and steady, careening through the dark as if propelled by some mysterious force.
* * * *
Gareth and the other warriors finally came to stand by Tristan's side. Gareth smiled. “I see you be gaining control of your magic.” He winked at Seerah. “With the wind at our backs like this, now, we'll reach The Mull of Kintyre in no time."
Tristan glared at Gareth. “For the love of—"
“Believe what you wish, Tristan. But you know well what you saw. We all do. She cast Nevil in the ocean, and thwarted the attack. She has the power."
“Aye.” The other men agreed, nodding their accord.
Tristan clapped his hand to his forehead. “You've all gone mad. You're beginning to sound just like her!"
“'Tis well I should. After all, Seerah and I belong to each other,” Gareth said.
“What?” Tristan practically growled as he glared at Gareth.
Seerah gasped. Greum, Zeth and Colin visibly tensed, but Gareth shrugged indifferently. “We belong to each other, but not in the way you be thinking. Seerah is your wife, aye. But Ecne was right, we share a much deeper bond. And I know you well, Tristan. You would not believe me if I tried to explain, so I won't. When we reach Gairloch, you will see the truth for yourself. Whether or not you choose to believe, that will be up to you."
Tristan's gaze fell to Seerah.
“He is right. You would na’ believe without proof, but you will see soon enough.” Seerah shrugged and looked past him. She pointed out across the water. “We near land. I must find Cosmo and gather my belongings.” Lifting her skirts, Seerah hurried off.
“We've traveled swiftly, indeed,” Colin observed. “But we've been gone longer than expected. Our laird must be anxious for news."
“Aye?” Tristan replied.
“I'm most certain, that it would please him to know of our success as swiftly as possible,” Colin hedged.
“And?"
“Seerah's obviously worn out. Why, ‘twill take us twice as long to reach Gairloch with her and—"
“What are you trying so hard not to say, Colin?"
“I'm simply suggesting that Gareth, Zeth, Greum and I go on ahead to ease the laird's mind."
“This would not have anything to do with Seerah's ... peculiarities, now would it?"
Colin bowed his head low and nodded. “Ashamed as I am to admit it, ‘tis the truth. I'm beginning to believe in her powers meself.” He looked up.
“There's another reason that we all wish to travel on ahead,” Zeth said.
“Explain!” Tristan growled.
Greum stepped forward. “Ever since we boarded ship and you locked Seerah below, you have been taking out your ... frustrations ... on all of us. ‘Tis about time you spent some time alone with you wife. I'm thinking she's feeling neglected."
Colin, Greum, Gareth and Zeth nodded their agreement.
“And it's obvious you want her,” Colin said. “So fiercely your need be, that it's driving you to distraction. You've been acting like a rabid dog ever since we boarded ship. Grant us leave to go on ahead, and take some time to ... be alone with her."
“Are you suggesting I've no notion of how to properly care for me own wife?” Tristan bellowed.
“Nay, Tristan,” Greum said. “Truth be told, we simply wish for some time away from your ... sweet-tempered disposition."
“Aye.” Gareth, Colin and Zeth agreed, then turned to walk away.
“Go bed you wife properly,” Colin called over his shoulder. “And give us all some peace."
Despite the grave insult his men had just given him, by departing without awaiting his approval, Tristan couldn't deny the fact that they were right—his need to have Seerah in his arms again was so great that he thought he would go mad if he didn't take her soon.
Originally, he'd thought to give her some time to recover; after all it had been her first time and she'd been tender the following day. The only way he had managed to keep his hands off her, however, had been by completely disregarding her presence. Ignoring her lithe body and come-hither looks had been pure torture. And now, his own men were practically ordering h
im to bed his own wife. He would have laughed if Seerah hadn't appeared at that exact moment.
“Where be Gareth and the others?” she asked.
“Preparing to leave."
“Good. I'm ready to be off, as well."
“We're not going with them, Seerah."
“What? Why not!"
Tristan smiled. “It appears,” He said, advancing and taking her in his arms, “as though my men have just ordered me to ... see to your needs."
Seerah gasped, her eyes growing wide with a look that bordered between astonishment and anticipation. “M-me n-needs?"
“Aye. I've been neglecting, you wife.” Slowly bending his head, he kissed her so thoroughly that he felt her body tremble with desire. His own body reacted with such yearning that he actually feared he might humiliate himself right then and there. Dragging his mouth from hers, he looked into her eyes. “Let's be away from here, now!"
* * * *
Gareth and the others rode off, swiftly, leaving Seerah and Tristan behind.
Tristan and Seerah quickly found shelter in a nearby cavern.
The first time they made love, it was fast and furiously with the hunger of two starving people. They didn't even bother to fully undress, but Seerah didn't mind in the least; consumed by her own desire, she clung to Tristan, matching him moan for moan, shattering release for shattering release.
After lighting a fire, they prepared a makeshift bed with fur mantles and took their time teasing and caressing each other with a slow, torturous pleasure that seemed to last forever. It wasn't until much later, when they lay fully sated in each other's arms, that Seerah's world came crashing down around her. Dear God! I love him. As she studied his sleeping face in the soft glow of firelight, the thought was almost more than she could bear. She knew that Tristan desired her, and perhaps he even cared for her, but that was all she could ever expect from him.
Though she'd always loved Gran, the love she felt for Tristan was more intimate and fervent then she could have imagined; her heart and soul felt more fragile and exposed than she ever could have believed. Seerah knew that such deep, unguarded emotions went against every fiber in Tristan's nature. To him, loving her would be like going into battle totally defenseless. Mayhap I have enough love for the both of us. As she brushed a kiss on his forehead, a glowing stream of light suddenly appeared near the back of the cave, drawing her attention.
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