Pulling Tristan's discarded plaid about her shoulders, she rose and walked toward the light.
A lone willow shoot sprouted from the ground within the ray of light. Glancing back over her shoulder she noticed that the rest of the cave, including Tristan and the fire, seemed to vanish behind a wall of mist. You must go to the Fin-gal's cave and retrieve the alder wand. The Magi's words echoed in her mind. First you must open you heart to love. Only then will you achieve the true power of the light.
Glancing back at the willow shoot, she watched as it twisted and shrank until it was transformed into a dry, curved twig resembling a primeval scepter—just like the one the magi had conjured. When she reached out and grasped it in her hand, the light glowed brighter as if it was drawing from some other source. A warm current of invigorating energy seemed to flow through her veins and for the first time she understood the meaning of the true power of the light. The ability and willingness to love. Aye.
When she turned to rejoin Tristan, the mist faded and the cave reappeared. She walked back to where Tristan lay sleeping. Kneeling on the ground next to him, she whispered. “I love you, and I will forever more."
Tristan's eyes fluttered open. He reached out and brushed a tear from her cheek. “Seerah. I ... I...” He gently pulled Seerah down and held her close. “And I will protect you always. ‘Tis the best I can offer."
“Aye.” Placing her finger against his lips, Seerah said, “'Tis enough."
* * * *
Gairloch Castle
“Tristan has returned!” Alec informed his laird as he approached Kendahl's bedchamber.
Kendahl stood by the window. He smiled at Alec and glanced outside. “Of course he has. Why, as you can see, I've been expecting him. Have the gates raised, Alec. I wish to greet Tristan, me men and ... me children at the drawbridge."
Even though Gareth and the others had left for Gairloch castle well before Tristan and Seerah, they all breached the woods at practically the same instant, only from two different directions. They met in the clearing halfway between the woods and Gairloch castle.
Gareth glanced back at the path, then frowned at Tristan. “How—"
“Fear not, Gareth. All is well.” Tristan chuckled.
Colin smirked. “You both appear to be ... uh ... well enough, indeed. But how did you manage such a hasty journey when we left the docks before you?"
“Aye. How?” Zeth said.
“How, indeed?” Gareth remarked.
Although the shortcut he'd taken to get them to Gairloch castle from the Fin-gael's cave was a long-forgotten trail, Tristan couldn't resist the opportunity. “Well,” Tristan began. “In case you have na’ noticed, she's a talented enchantress."
“You finally believe in her powers?” Zeth fairly choked on his words.
Despite everything that had transpired, Tristan still had his doubts about her magic powers, but he was a devout believer in her seductive powers. Tristan grinned at the memory of their lovemaking.
“Aye, he believes,” Greum said.
At that moment, Tristan spotted the laird sitting proud and tall on his mount, before the drawbridge.
Seerah gasped. “Do you see him, Gareth?"
“Aye, that I do” Gareth replied.
“'Tis our laird,” Tristan informed.
“I know,” Seerah said, glancing at Gareth. “He's been expecting us."
Moments later, Tristan brought his horse to a halt in front his laird and nodded respectfully.
“Tristan. Welcome back.” The laird nodded in reply, but his eyes remained locked on Seerah. “We've ... ‘tis good to..."
Tristan fully understood his laird's reaction to her; she looked more radiant than usual today, somehow. Tristan knew that her presence would likely cause a stir. If his laird's reaction to her, now, was any indication as to how the clan would treat her—especially the men—Tristan knew he'd be hard pressed not to bash more than a few heads. After all, she was his—he wasn't about to stand idly by while other men leered at her.
The fact that his laird had been rendered speechless didn't bode well. Aye, there was something strange, indeed, about the way he seemed to hold her and her alone, in his steady gaze. Seerah's suddenly tense demeanor also left Tristan feeling a bit uneasy.
Tristan looked to Gareth, hoping for some answers, but Gareth also sat unmoving, in a trance-like state. He glanced at Colin, Greum, and finally Zeth. Each man simply shrugged, their eyes silently questioning him about what to do. Normally, it was proper decorum for the laird to speak first. Seeing that he was at such a loss for words, however, Tristan cleared his throat loudly, hoping to break the trance-like state.
The laird didn't flinch, but a smile curved his lips. “I know you are all waiting, Tristan. But you will simply have to wait a while longer."
Tristan frowned. “But—"
“Shush.” The laird held up his hand, silencing Tristan. When he finally dismounted, he managed to do so without ever taking his eyes from Seerah. Then he walked over and offered a hand up to her. “D-daughter?” he croaked.
“Father,” Seerah whispered, as she slid down from Tristan's lap into the laird's open arms and hugged him close.
Father? Daughter? What ... When Tristan realized that his own mouth was gaping open wider than any other, he clamped it shut. Questions raced through his mind, but before he could ask the laird anything, Gareth cleared his throat and coughed, as if purposely drawing the laird's attention.
Still holding Seerah close by his side the laird smiled at Gareth. He held an open arm out as if inviting Gareth to join them. “Son,” the laird said, unable to keep the emotion from his voice any longer.
Gareth slowly dismounted and joined them. “Father,” Gareth croaked. As the two men embraced in a vise-like hug, the laird's eyes grew misty. Seerah sniffled, choking back a happy sob, and the two men released each other, only to include her in their tender welcome.
“See-rah?” Tristan said, finally.
The threesome glanced in Tristan's direction, but it was the laird who spoke, “Aye, Tristan. You have been most patient. You have served me well, as I knew you would.” He motioned to the charm dangling from Seerah's neck. “Not only did you located the charm and return it to me, but you gave me back me life—me children. And together we will rescue their mother—the love of me life."
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Five
Even after Kendahl related the details of Boyce's—Gareth's—birth, and all he remembered of the raid, Tristan still found the information difficult to believe: Seerah and Gareth were brother and sister, the laird had once been a member of the Fenians of Ireland, and he was also the legendary Highland Knight, Kendahl MacFarlane—and, now, Tristan's father-in-law to boot.
'Twas almost more than Tristan could take in all at once. Though he believed that Seerah's family had been separated during the Norse attack, he still wasn't willing to consider the tales of prophecy. And their beliefs in the forces of dark and light were even harder to grasp. The laird's—Kendahl's—plans to locate and rescue his wife, Galynne, seemed rather desperate. Not that Tristan doubted their ability to rescue her. But Kendahl's dreams and Seerah's visions weren't enough to convince Tristan that Galynne had survived, or that they could even locate her.
Tristan rubbed his temples, trying to approach the situation from a reasonable point of view.
“There's more, I'm afraid,” Kendahl's voice crashed into Tristan deep thoughts. “I met with a man recently. He calls himself Lord Viper. He occupies Lochinver Keep. I had my suspicions about him in the beginning, and I know now that he is not who he first led me to believe."
“Viper?” Seerah and Gareth spoke simultaneously. They glanced at each other.
“The serpent?” Gareth asked.
“'Tis most likely that they are one in the same,” Seerah said.
“The serpent?” Kendahl replied.
“I've seen the serpent in me visions,” Seerah said.
“Please, tell me of t
his vision."
Seerah nodded. “The shadowed man, Tristan, is obviously me protector. Then there was the serpent—a symbol representing the evil presence, possibly this Lord Viper. But ... there was also another man—a light-haired man who appears to be taming the serpent."
“Fin-gael?” Kendahl asked.
“Aye.” Seerah nodded.
“So, my suspicion be well-founded.” Kendahl sighed heavily. “I fear Lord Viper and this Fin-gael, from your dreams, be one in the same, Seerah. He's also a villain from me own past. Once, a long time ago, I called him friend. He came to my clan, a young man alone in the world. I took him in. I trained him and fought by his side. I treated him like a brother and trusted him like no other until—och! I should have killed him!” Slamming his fist against the table, Kendahl rose and began pacing back and forth.
“What, Father? What happened?” Seerah asked.
“He became ill, and I brought him to the Druid camp where I first met you mother."
Seerah gasped. “The legend's true, then? You and Mother fell in love at first sight, but it wasn't until after you saved her from the fire that you were allowed to wed?"
“Aye.” Kendahl stopped pacing. “Izebeth told you this?"
“Aye."
“Did she also speak to you of the scorned one?"
“The scorned one? Nay. Who—
“He is the man who I took in and treated as one of me own. He was even a member of the Fianna for a short while, until he became ill. While Galynne nursed him back to health, he developed feelings for her. When he realized how Galynne and I felt about each other, he became sorely jealous of me, and when I was forced to leave the Druid camp, he tried to force himself on her."
“You mean he ra—” Seerah faltered.
“Aye. He tried to rape Galynne. But he failed. I wanted to kill him then. Instead, Izebeth cursed his manhood and exiled him to Normandy. She believed it would be punishment enough. But now he's back. He's got what he's wanted all along—Galynne. He is obviously learned in the art of black magic as well. But he will pay this time. Aye, you will pay with your life this time, Desruc!” Kendahl cried, slamming his fist against the table again.
Tristan's mouth fell open and he gazed wide-eyed at Kendahl. “D-Des-ruc?"
“What is it, Tristan?” Seerah cried. “Do you know of this ... this Desruc?"
“Aye,” Tristan all but growled the reply. Looking up at Kendahl, he said, “I know him well. He is me sworn enemy. And, unfortunately, me half-brother as well. As for his death, it will be mine. Mine alone!"
* * * *
Seerah had vehemently opposed the plan for her to stay behind like a frightened maid while the men went off to rescue Galynne. When she had tried to explain the prophecy to Kendahl, his fatherly concerns had swiftly outweighed his beliefs. Kendahl, Gareth, and Tristan were planning to fight black magic with reason and brute strength, but Seerah knew such a plan would never work. After formulating a sound plan of her own, she mixed a mild sleeping draught in their ale. When all of the men, including the guards, were snoring soundly, she slipped away, like a black cat in the night.
Gaining entrance to Lochinver Keep proved easier than Seerah had first thought it would.
Armed with the Danann's gifted harp, from Dagdha, she'd ridden up to the keep claiming be a traveling minstrel who wished only for a coin or two for her troubles. The guards readily accepted her lies with the obvious hopes of paying her for more than mere songs. Moments later the sweet strain of the harp had plunged her enemies into a deep, mystical slumber, as promised by Ecne.
With the use of her mind she swiftly located Galynne's spirit in the tower room. Pulling her black cloak tightly about herself, Seerah made her way across the vacant courtyard to the tower. As she snuck cautiously up the winding staircase, however, she realized too late that something was wrong. Pain exploded against the side of her head mere seconds before she succumbed to the darkness.
* * * *
“Where's Seerah!” Tristan all but roared, bringing Kendahl, Gareth, and the contingent of sleeping warriors quickly awake.
“What? Who?” Kendahl struggled to his feet and glanced about. “Seerah?"
“She's gone. The insolent wench drugged us. And, if I know her at all, she set out to find Galynne on her own!” Tristan bellowed, then stroked his throbbing skull.
“Hell-fire and damnation!” Kendahl yelled. “Alec, ready our horses and call the guard, we ride for Lochinver Keep, now!"
When the scouts reported back that all was quiet, Kendahl, Tristan, and the soldiers slipped from the camouflage of the forest surrounding Lochinver Keep. To their surprise, they found themselves surrounded by what appeared to be hordes of soldiers, too many in number to count.
An enemy soldier called out, “Surrender now or the enchantress dies."
“What of our warriors?” Kendahl asked.
“We've no use for them, only you and your vassal. Your men offer no threat against our vast number. They will be set free as well, if you surrender peacefully."
Neither Kendahl or Tristan trusted the enemy, but it seemed they had little choice in the matter—the enemy soldiers stood twenty or thirty deep, their ranks lining the expanse of land from border to border. The sight was mind-numbing. If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, Tristan would never have believed such numbers. Desruc's army easily outnumbered Kendahl's full contingent of warriors by twenty to one. They had no hope of escaping, or surviving, such a battle. Slim as it was, their only hope of seeing Seerah and Galynne alive was for Kendahl and Tristan to surrender.
All Tristan could think about was Seerah's safety. He gazed at Kendahl and they nodded to one another, in silent agreement.
Next, Kendahl ordered his men to retreat. Then he and Tristan dismounted, cast off their weapons and walked slowly toward the enemy.
Gareth watched in disbelief and anger as six of Desruc's soldiers rode forward to seize Kendahl and Tristan. They were bound and gagged, then tethered behind the horses and left to walk.
They had just gained the drawbridge when one of the soldier kicked Kendahl in the head, nearly knocking him to the ground. Colin roared and hefted his spear, then released it before anyone could stop him.
“Nay, Colin—” Gareth cried, a moment too late.
The spear sailed through the air as though powered by the wings of a falcon; despite the great distance, it soared high and far, silently slicing through the night with such speed and accuracy that its flight seemed almost enchanted. When it struck its target—the soldier who had kicked Kendahl—the man fell to the ground. An instant later, both horse and rider vanished.
Within seconds, the bulk of Desruc's army also vanished, leaving barely a handful of soldiers guarding the castle entrance.
“Black magic, indeed,” Gareth muttered. He glanced at Colin and nodded.
“Attack!” He shouted the command.
As the warriors drove their horses from the woods, Kendahl and Tristan began to struggle against the several remaining men, but their effort proved too little too late. More soldiers appeared from inside the castle. Kendahl and Tristan were quickly ushered inside and the drawbridge was fully raised before Gareth and the warriors had covered barely half the distance.
Gareth drew his mount to a halt at the edge of the moat surrounding Lochinver Keep.
Colin, Greum and Zeth fell into place on either side of him.
“'Twill be impossible for us to defeat black magic with brawn,” Zeth said.
“Aye,” Gareth said. Then he pulled the sword of Nuada from its sheath. “Then we will fight with white magic. Colin, retrieve your spear—we will need all the help we can get."
* * * *
Seerah struggled against the two armed warriors who had been sent to escort her to the hall. But her efforts soon proved futile. Even if she could break free of their grasp, where would she go? Her only hope was that Tristan would form a better plan than she had. Aye, he would. He had to!
When Seerah and the g
uards entered the hall by way of a side passage, they abruptly released her, thrusting her forward so that she fell to the ground.
“Welcome, Seerah,” Desruc muttered, as he finished chewing the handful of fennel he'd just shoved into his mouth. “So good of you to come.” He swallowed with a gulp and glanced at a guard standing on the other side of the hall. “Have Helig bring the other one to me."
The guard opened a door and shouted, “Bring forth the Barbarian!” Only a brief moment passed before a hulking Norman serf led Tristan into the hall. An iron collar encircled Tristan's neck. His wrists and ankles were shackled. The heavy chain harness connecting his limbs made escape virtually impossible.
“Tristan! No!” Seerah cried.
“Ah yes, Tristan. As you can see, we've been waiting for you,” Desruc jeered.
Tristan eyes locked with Seerah's. “Has he harmed you?"
Seerah's eyes filled with tears. “Nay, I'm well,” she replied. Then lowering her eyes, she wagged her head from side to side. “I'm so sorry, Tristan,” she whispered.
Desruc clapped his hands together slowly. “A touching scene, truly. But what is this? No endearing words for your dear brother, Tristan?” He dipped his hand in the bowl of herbs again, and crammed a handful into his mouth.
Seerah's head snapped up. Brother? Desruc?
“Half-brother,” Tristan bitterly corrected, struggling against Helig's grip.
Seerah's mind whirled as Brigit's words about their half-brother flooded her brain. The Devil's spawn, indeed."Half-brother?” Desruc snickered, drawing Seerah's full attention. He slowly finished munching the fennel, then grinned at Tristan. “You mean bastard, don't you, Tristan?” He rose and casually brushed his hands together.
“The title does seem to fit.” Tristan glared.
“And, here I thought I was being kind when I murdered that worthless bitch, Catrin, for you. She was a whore you know."
Tristan jerked at his chains. “I can only hope to be so kind, when I slay you."
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