“Why?"
“Alanna MacLachlan be a willful brat."
“And Connal likes his women compliant."
Fianna laughed. “Hardly. My sister...” She shook her head. “I speak too freely of what is the lord's affair. What were we discussing?"
“The Council. The MacLachlans."
“Aye. This journey to Council, Connal shall undertake reluctantly. ’Tis a fair distance and so close to winter, ‘twill be freezing. That is clan MacLachlan for you. Never ones to think of any save themselves. One of the other clans would be willing to substitute their turn. But Lord MacLachlan drew his lot and cares not a fig for anyone's comfort, so long as he can swagger about and play the game of being host."
Liandra raised a quizzical brow.
“There has always been rivalry between the clans and counties. Though ’tis the truth, when I say, that none can compete with County MacArran for its wealth and beauty."
“So Connal always tells me."
Fianna smiled. “He is justly proud of his holding."
“I walked in the Castle grounds today. I've seen many worlds, many things, Fianna, but never anything so lovely as the rose garden."
“Connal's mother planted them. She had a way with nurturing. I am pleased to know that you no longer confine yourself to your chamber. Our world is not such a bad place. Maybe in time you will grow to love it. I would like to show you everything."
“Later,” Liandra said. “I'm rather tired."
Fianna put the tray to one side. “I am sorry. Here I sit chatting, while you are exhausted. And no wonder, after all that has occurred."
“Where are you going?"
“Back to my own rooms. I have immersed myself too long in sorrow. Time moves on and I must, too. Only, will there always be this hollow feeling inside for my Garris?"
“My mother has an old Terran saying. Time heals all wounds."
Fianna nodded and took up the trays. “Rest for as long as you need, Liandra. I will see to it that no one disturbs you."
Liandra locked the door behind Fianna. Marshalling her thoughts she strode to her bed.
Problem number one. She had to find the missing crystals. Once they were in her possession she would undertake the dream-search to reach her father. Her duty, first and foremost, was to warn the League of the alien threat, and then help her friends in the dream-dimension. After that, if possible, she would look to her own rescue, by appealing to the Council.
After purging herself of all thoughts and emotions, she attuned her mind to the crystals, allowing their colors to invade her consciousness. Finally, she caught their vibrations. Finding them would be the easy thing. But as to what lay ahead? She shuddered. Never before had she been afraid of any aspect of her work. Once she entered the dreamscape, she would have no choice other than confront the aliens.
Before her courage failed her, Liandra left her room and hurried along the length of the corridor and up the stairs. Thankfully, she saw no one. No doubt it would be common knowledge that she was allowed the freedom of the Castle, so she did not run the risk of being challenged should she encounter any of Connal's people. Though it might be a different thing if she was seen going into his private apartments.
Liandra paused on the threshold of his chamber and mentally braced herself. She suppressed the images of what had occurred there, yet her lips tingled anew with the memory of his kiss.
Holding her breath, she opened the door a fraction and peered in. Creeping forward, she located the wooden chest, and flung open the lid. Pushing aside the clothes, she grasped the crystals and stuffed them into her jacket. Their heavy, pulsing warmth settled reassuringly against her breasts.
With heart hammering, Liandra returned to her chamber. Quickly locking the door she hurried to her bed. She re-hung the crystals, each in their proper place and drew on the dreamer's cap. There was no time for her usual meditation, the prelude to entering her dream-state.
For a moment she felt turned inside out, then the rainbow hues spun her down, transporting her away. Tentatively, she probed outwards. All was as it should be in the dream-world; no aliens and no faint, mysterious emanations of any sort. Liandra quickly forced herself on and on, her mind reaching across time and space, seeking home.
She paused, turned a complete circle, trying to get her bearings. This was no ordinary dream-search where only she existed. It was a dream-sending and as such she usually encountered other consciousness using the dream-dimension to send messages. Yet, Liandra found herself alone. Totally.
She wanted to cry with exasperation. To have dared so much, only to fail. No! She would have to keep trying. She would find someone—anyone—and use them to send her message to her father. The mind she touched would remember her as a dream, its legacy, a compulsion to find Alleron Tavor. And once done, her father would know what to do to extract the subliminal message.
It bordered on the unethical, to use another being in such a way. What other choice did she have? She had to proceed, though her principles told her she should not. Her father would understand and make the necessary apologies.
All her plans were to no avail. Not one spark of consciousness appeared throughout all the space she roamed.
"Liandra!" Seven Stars! It was Connal's voice, and nearby!
Gasping, she twisted around, to run in the opposite direction, hoping against hope that he could not follow her.
Frantically, her fear and desperation adding strength to her sending, she probed outwards into the void, and slowly the mists parted. The Asarian star system loomed up ahead. Then, as she plummeted down, she saw her green and white world. Asaria. The planet of her birth. As she focused, she saw her father's estate. Then her house. Her mother working at her desk in the conservatory.
“Mother!”
Sarah Tavor turned and Liandra sent her the first few images of her message.
“Witch!"
The sound of Connal's voice so close to her, wrenched her concentration away. Her mother's image wavered and Liandra found herself back in the void.
She fled, knowing that he pursued her, knowing she could not hide, sooner or later she would have to return to the real world and Connal would be there waiting for her.
Liandra came to a skidding halt as the white mists parted and Connal strode out towards her. She twisted away and ran on. Moments later she felt him against her, bringing her to the ground. Though as they fell, Connal turned her, so his body beneath hers cushioned her fall.
“Return us, now!” he hissed.
“Connal..."
“Now! Or, by Arran, I will make you sorry you were ever born!"
Shifting her focus, she awoke on her bed. Connal was not lying down beside her, but sitting. With a string of Caledonian expletives spoken so fast she could not understand, he threw off his cap.
Terrified, Liandra stared up at him. His ashen face was all harsh angles, his lips drawn to a thin line.
“Connal, let me explain."
He stalked to the window and stood with his back to her. Liandra watched as he struggled for control. The battle lasted minutes. In that time, she had an eternity to consider what was going to happen to her.
He turned to her. “I should be giving you the spanking you so richly deserve."
“A—what?” The image of what he had threatened came to mind as Liandra probed her subliminal tutoring. She gasped. “You wouldn't dare."
“Would I not?” His hands balled into fists as he took one step towards her.
Liandra eyed him warily. “Come any closer, Connal MacArran and I'll scream the walls down."
“Yet another challenge? You know how I deal with such. My people would not come to your aid, even if your cries did carry beyond these walls. They respect their chieftain and will not interfere in my business.” He drew in a long, steadying breath. “There are easier, more effective punishments for a woman such as you! I had hoped you were coming to terms with your new life, but ‘twas only a ploy."
“I had a duty t
o warn my father, at the very least to let him know I was alive. You don't seem to realize there's more at stake here than one world."
“I understand only too well what is at risk. I will deal with this menace in my own way."
“How can you?” Liandra challenged. “And don't just say 'tis Caledonian magic. I'm getting tired of that excuse."
Connal smiled grimly. “'Tis clan business, Mistress Tavor. We have ways and means of protecting ourselves and others, without League interference.” He folded his arms and glared at her. “What you dared! You could have been lost...” Violent tremors seized his body.
Liandra forced herself not to flinch, as his narrowed eyes bored into her. He was in a terrible state. Fear and anger were only two emotions she caught from him before he quashed all behind his impervious mask.
Connal stepped closer to her. “Was your dream-search successful?"
“I managed to reach my mother. She only knows I'm alive. Nothing more. I was careful not to betray your privacy."
“Your actions have proved you untrustworthy. How can I trust you? ’Tis a pity, witch because I was beginning to think that perhaps you and I might become friends. For defying me, for risking yourself and my people, your punishment is two-fold. Your crystal bed is confiscated and I will set you to work in my Castle. Your status is no longer one of guest. You will have to earn the right to be considered such again. And you have forfeited your privilege to call me Connal. Only my chosen friends and kinsfolk may call me by name. Henceforth, you shall address me as lord, until you have proven yourself again in my eyes. If that is possible."
“You can't take my bed from me. I need it."
“You should have thought of that before you stole the crystals. Surely you knew your action would not go unpunished?"
“I considered it my duty to warn my people. My honor, if you will!”
Connal regarded her in astonishment. Liandra stood tall and proud, not humbled and afraid. Her words amazed him, not her stance. To sacrifice oneself for a higher ideal, it was a quality of which any Caledonian would be proud. But hers had been a terrible gamble. Perhaps not unlike his when he had first decided to follow Garris into League space.
Was that the cause of his anger? Because they were alike in placing duty and honor before oneself? And that being so, he did not want to punish her—for in her place he would have done the same.
Connal sighed tiredly, steeling himself. “Do you accept the consequences of your actions?"
Liandra nodded.
“Very well. Come here."
Slowly she came to stand before him.
Connal grasped her chin, gently but firmly. “For one month you will carry out kitchen duties. For that month you will be deprived of your bed. After that time I will review your status. I might return your bed, without its crystals."
“I..."
He put a finger to her lips. “Argue with me and I increase the punishment by a month."
“Can I say one thing?"
He sighed. “Only one thing."
“I didn't betray you to the League, even if I had the time, I wouldn't. I respect your wish for anonymity. And if you take the crystals from the bed..."
“'Tis two things you have said, Liandra."
“Yes, but..."
“And now two months you work in the kitchen and lose the use of your bed."
Liandra opened her mouth to protest, and Connal's eyebrow raised a fraction.
“Do I make it three?"
Liandra shook her head. What use in arguing? Besides, if her plan was successful, she wouldn't be on Caledonia for two weeks, let alone two months! So much for his punishment, then!
“I'd like to know one more thing. The terms of my punishment."
“Aye?"
“Am I confined to my chamber, or can I still have the freedom of the castle? I'd like to visit the garden."
“That surprises me, after I saw the evidence of your high regard for my roses."
“I don't know what you mean."
“Do you not? Normally, I do not pick my roses for any one. Think about what you did to my gift."
Connal's rose had been crushed by Jenna. He wouldn't believe her if she told him the truth—take the word of an alien witch over his woman? So she said nothing, though inwardly she cursed herself for being a coward for accepting Connal's punishment and for accepting Jenna's treatment. He was right; a League member didn't have the stomach for a fight.
“Your punishment begins as of now. Come with me."
Connal took her arm and guided her out of her chamber. In silence he led her down the many passageways and staircases.
Liandra smelled the aroma of cooking food. As Connal waved her ahead of him, she pushed open a door and paused at the entrance. The men and women working in the kitchen turned to her enquiringly. Then as they saw Connal they resumed their duties, the tension in the air tangible.
Wiping her hands on her long apron, a middle-aged woman strode up to Connal. “Good day to you, My Lord. What may I do for you?"
“Good day to you, Amilia. I have someone for you to instruct. When it comes to cooking, the witch is a complete novice. I want her trained well."
Amilia's smile broadened. “Oh aye, on that you can be assured, My Lord."
“Then I can leave her in your capable hands?"
“Aye."
Liandra turned to Connal, the entreaty dying on her lips the moment she caught sight of those steely eyes.
“Do not disappoint me, witch."
Liandra sighed and watched him stride away. Slowly, she turned to Amilia.
All those smells and oh... Seven Stars! Raw meat hanging on hooks. Despite the indignity and violence of a spanking, that punishment didn't look so bad. Work for two months with those blood-dripping carcasses? She couldn't endure it. She couldn't. Panic welled up inside, followed by a dark, creeping tide. She fled the kitchen.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Are you coming to the funeral tomorrow eve?” Amilia asked looking up from her roll of pastry.
Liandra frowned. “Funeral? Oh, you mean a life-severing."
Amilia cocked her head to one side. “A what?"
“A ceremony where friends and relatives gather to say goodbye to one who has embraced the universal mystery.”
“What a mouthful!” Amilia said.
“No less than your Caledonian word for a funeral,” Liandra countered, laughing at Amilia.
Theirs was a friendly rivalry, Liandra insisting that the Caledonian language was unnecessarily difficult to pronounce and archaic, Amilia contending the opposite.
“All you need to do, Liandra, is practice your pronunciation. Say it. Tee-ulucu."
“Funeral,” Liandra said, stumbling over the Caledonian word.
Amilia's small, rotund frame shivered with laughter. “Call it what you will, Lord MacArran has decreed that we must bid Garris farewell. Will you attend?"
“Yes."
Liandra had only known Garris through the dream-state, but she liked him. She was very fond of Amilia, too. In the two weeks she had worked in the kitchen, Liandra had made new friends. Once the staff had grown accustomed to her, she had slowly been drawn in to their banter. Her tasks were not difficult, at times even enjoyable.
Now, wrist deep in pastry, Liandra paused, realizing that finally her opportunity to escape the Castle had presented itself. With all attention focused on the funeral, she might be able to slip away unnoticed. But so soon? She needed more time to plan. To prepare. Ill-conceived plans had a habit of ending in disaster. Dare she risk it? Of course she must. What other choice did she have?
The morning flew by as Liandra planned her escape, discarding every idea almost as soon as she gave it a hearing.
At mid-day, she sat outside in the kitchen courtyard to eat her lunch. She smiled at the people chatting and laughing about her, remembering a time not so long ago when the tables were deserted, save for Amilia and her kitchen staff. That had changed the moment word spread among the Ca
stle's inhabitants that she was there. Now the tables were filled to capacity, all eager to see and speak to the off-worlder. Amilia had insisted that anyone sitting at her tables gave Liandra due respect and courtesy. The words ‘alien’ and ‘witch’ were forbidden in Amilia's domain.
“Your home-world, Liandra. Is it far from here?” Andrew asked.
Liandra smiled at the young kitchen boy. “I'm not sure. I don't know where here is."
“Then, what it be like, your world?"
“Very different from Caledonia."
“Och aye?"
As she explained some of the obvious contrasts, his eyes grew round and disbelieving.
“You make a jest of me,” he said, indignantly.
“No, I'm telling you the truth."
Andrew smiled his disbelief.
“I'll show you something.” She collected seven apples and four large cherries from the fruit basket and returned to her table.
Liandra concentrated and Andrew gasped as the seven apples rose out of her hands and hung suspended in the air in a triangular configuration. Slowly the fruit turned on their axles. She sent the cherries in a staggered orbit around the apple that formed the apex of the triangle.
“The seven apples represent the seven stars which form the Asarian coalition. The apple which has the cherries in orbit around it, this is my star system. This is Asaria,” she said pointing to the fourth cherry.
“How can you do that? ’Tis magic."
“No, it's a skill I've learned. Others of my kind are more proficient."
The people clustered around her, gently touching the spinning fruit.
“What are you doing?” Connal demanded.
Liandra's concentration diverted, and people ducked for cover as the fruit flew in every direction. One diner, not fast enough, ended up with a cherry spattered across his forehead.
“I was showing Andrew my star system—the seven stars—the first star system to form the League."
“And hence your oath, Seven Stars.” Connal nodded and held out his hand. “A private word with you Mistress."
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