Healer

by Linda Windsor

  “This is not what I called him here for,” Rhianon fumed next to Caden. “I am going to withhold some of our tribute.”

  “Besides, these men thought, how could one get to know a spirit God who created all life and breathed His power and life into them as you know your father or brother or friend?” Brother Martin raised both hands to the sky. “Jesus Christ,” he shouted, causing Rhianon and half the assembly to gasp.

  “Jesus came to show us all, even the most learned of us, that we can … we must … and it is through Jesus that we can do this. God loves everyone from kings to paupers, from the learned to the feeble-minded. God longs for you and me—priest, chief, warrior, woman, and servant—to walk and to talk and to commune with Him. The God who made all wants to be our anmchara. Our soulmate. He wants to be our Father who loves each of us, even when we have not been lovable … or good … or just. He is a Father who loved us so much, that He allowed His Son to be sacrificed for all our sins.”

  “Good for us, but not for the Son,” Daniel of Gowrys spoke up. Seated on the grass between Tarlach’s gray wolfhounds, the young man stared at the priest as if daring him to reply.

  An uncomfortable snicker fluttered through the gathered crowd.

  Caden bristled with indignation at the affront to the priest. “No one cares what the likes of you thinks, Gowrys.” Besides, the priest needed no reason to extend his talk even longer.

  “Christ cares,” Martin admonished Caden gently. “You see, Daniel, Christ chose to be the sacrifice—the last and only sacrifice that man would ever need to make—because He loved us and He knew that we could never follow the laws of God perfectly enough to have eternal life. He could have called legions of warrior angels to defend himself against His enemies—”

  “But this is Lady’s Day, Brother!” The nip in Rhianon’s voice signaled her patience had reached its end. “Save your stories of Christ for your sessions with that unlearned oaf. Tell us of His mother, whose fertility was such that she could bear a child without knowing man.”

  “I prefer our way,” Caden whispered into her ear.

  “Shush,” she replied, smiling at the priest as though she’d not heard Caden. But the telling color rising to her cheeks told him his wife had heard him well and agreed.

  “As God created all of nature by the power of his Word, so His Spirit created the child in the Virgin’s womb. As the farmer plants seed into the earth, so God’s Spirit planted a son in Mary. And even today, as man and woman come together in love, it is His Spirit that gifts the union with fertility, for it is no secret that not all such unions produce children.”

  Now that was something every man present was surely thankful for. The squeeze of Rhianon’s hand shot Caden through with shame at the drift of his mind. He knew she wanted a child. So did he. A son and heir to whom he’d pass Glenarden with pride and joy, not the grudging reluctance of Tarlach.

  “Today, Heavenly Father,” the priest began with what Caden hoped was a closing prayer, “we honor the willing heart of Mary to accept God’s will. May our hearts be as willing to accept Your will for us. We honor the mothers, the mothers-to-be, and all of nature, asking God’s blessing on them to bring forth new life after the Long Dark. Bless us with bounty in our crops and livestock and bounty in our cradles in this season of rebirth.”

  How holy men loved the sound of their poetry and praise.

  In the corner of his eye, Caden spied the Gowrys prince ambling away from the gathering, the dogs and a guard assigned to watch him following. He and Tarlach were the only black clouds in Caden’s brightening future, yet they ate away at his insides like lye.

  When the priest motioned one of the servants forward with the bread and wine, Caden let out a long sigh of relief. It was almost over. Once he and Rhianon had partaken of the Eucharist, they would be free to return to the keep, where the steward and villagers had set up the feast.

  “This bread and wine is the power of salvation through the sacrificed flesh and blood of the crucified Christ. It is the power enabling us to remember the Christ as He asked us to do each time we partake of it. And it carries us across the ages on the wings of His love to His table. Such is the threefold magic of the Eucharist given by our Lord to His apostles and posterity.”

  Rhianon’s lips moved in fervent prayer as she accepted the bread and wine. Caden wanted to gather her up in his arms and tell her that a child would come when she stopped fretting over it. And it would be a beautiful son, crowned in golden hair with his mother’s rosy cheeks.

  “Rise and go forth in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” Brother Martin said, making the sign of the cross over their heads.

  Caden didn’t realize his retreat from the Mass was so hasty until Rhianon grasped his arm. “Slow down, my love. My stride is not as long as yours.”

  “Will that sackcloth of wind leave after the feast, or must we submit to more of his preaching?”

  “He will ask the Lord’s blessing over our food and afterward light and bless the bonfires.”

  Caden groaned. “There’ll be no child conceived this night if he catches a second wind.”

  “We will walk hand in hand around the fire to make us clean enough to receive the gift of a child. The priest will then anoint us with holy oil and bless us.”

  That his wife had conspired so with the priest was surprising, and, from the facial expression of that shriveled shadow of a nurse nearby, Caden was not the only one who disapproved. The old hag mumbled in indignant silence, no doubt hurling the spells of her sort at the priest.

  “The rest, milord,” Rhianon continued, snaking her arm about his to return to the hall, “is up to you and me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Brenna combed her hair in front of the fire, over which simmered a rabbit stew. Beyond her, Faol paced about the inner chamber of her home as if he knew that something was amiss, something that would change life as he knew it. He approached Brenna and nuzzled her, sniffing at the rose-scented oil she’d used on her skin.

  “We’re having a wedding, cariad. The man you brought to me is going to take me as his wife today, and I will take him as husband,” she explained to him. “We’ll be a family.”

  Restless, the wolf left her to sniff the freshly stuffed pallet in the bedbox.

  Things had changed between them since she’d stopped putting herbs to curb his desire in Rory’s food and tea. He’d eventually gotten over his anger at her for her precaution, or so he claimed, but his humor had been no less irritable, especially when she made up a bed on the rug next to Faol by the fire and left him on the pallet alone. Granted, it was hard and cold, but Brenna refused to let him take her place. The last thing he needed in his recovery was to take a chill.

  With a half sigh, half growl, Faol abandoned her, proceeding through the blanket-covered passage to the outer chamber where Rory awaited Brother Martin’s arrival. Rory, her handsome husband-to-be. The father of the son she’d bear.

  When her hair was mostly dry, Brenna rose to put on her mother’s pale blue wedding dress. How she wished for Ealga as she pulled on the embroidered shift and then the gown.

  Had her mother felt as sure of her future with Llas when she stitched its gold knotwork trim as Brenna was of hers with Rory? Had Joanna seen their dark end and married Llas anyway?

  “Father God, let no darkness befall this union, but bathe it in Your light.”

  She fumbled with the laces at the back of the dress until her attitude of prayer became one of exasperation.

  “May I come in?”

  “I …” Brenna hadn’t wanted Rory to see her until she was ready, but the dress was designed for a lady with a servant. “Yes, I need you.”

  Rory pushed the curtain aside and came in, Faol on his heel. The two had grown more accustomed to each other now that Rory was up and about and spent more time with the wolf.

  “I need you as—” Rory stared at her as if seeing her for the first time.

  His gaze warmed Brenna from
bone to skin till she forgot why she’d invited him in. The dress. Yes, that was it.

  “I … I have no servant to help me.” Slowly she turned her back to him, exposing the loose lacings. “I’m tangled.”

  Instead of answering, Rory went straight to work, straightening the laces and pulling them until the gown conformed to her figure. When he’d secured them, he turned her to face him, spreading her unbound hair with worshipful fingers.

  “You are too beautiful for words,” he said hoarsely.

  “Really?” Brenna’s heart soared. Surely this man had seen the most handsome women in all Albion in his travels.

  Chuckling, he drew her to him in a bear hug. “Really, Brenna of the Hallowed Hills.”

  In the magic of the moment, doubt melted away. This was what she’d been waiting for all her life, even when she wasn’t aware of it.

  Suddenly Faol barked, breaking the dizzying spell, and bolted out of the cave. A few seconds later, Brother Martin’s loud “Hello, anyone there besides this hulk of a beast?” followed.

  Brenna reluctantly gave up the haven of Rory’s arms. “Coming, Brother.” She grabbed a crown of spring flowers she’d made and placed it on her head so that the ribbons fell down her back.

  “Perfect,” Rory replied to her inquisitive glance.

  Faith, she loved this man. Taking him by the hand, Brenna led him out to meet the priest.

  Clad in a simple robe of gray sackcloth belted with knotted rope, Brother Martin waited near the cave entrance at his favorite spot—a boulder just the right height for sitting. Except that he stood in front of it with open arms and a radiant smile as Brenna emerged first, bringing Rory in tow.

  Martin’s admiration was not nearly so disconcerting. “My child, you have become a woman in what seems a matter of weeks.”

  Brenna returned his embrace. “Not so, Brother. I’ve been a woman for some time. There’s just been no one to notice.”

  Rory cleared his throat behind her.

  “Brother Martin, this is Rory of”—she hesitated—“of the Road. He is a soldier of fortune who wishes to stop his wandering to marry me and give me a son.”

  Brenna had always spoken her mind since Brother Martin, as her teacher and mentor, had encouraged it. But now he saw that he’d neglected to teach her when delicacy was required. Yet he’d never seen her more happy or unconcerned, and that did his heart good.

  But not enough to offset the concern he harbored regarding her plan to unwittingly marry Ronan of Glenarden.“In good time, Brenna,” Martin replied, “but I’d speak with your Rory of the Road in private as I am called to do prior to such matters as this.”

  “Of course. I’ve got to take the last of the barley cakes off and finish getting ready.”

  Brenna hiked her skirts and bolted into the cave that had been her home … and prison. In so many ways she was wise beyond her years and in so many ways innocent.

  Heavenly Father, show me some way to spare her.

  Martin was not comfortable with this marriage. But his instruction had come from the bishop himself through Merlin Emrys. The bloodlines must be joined. The prophecy must come to pass. The Celtic Church must be entrenched in the noble Scots and Britons to unite them against the invasion not only of the pagan Saxons’ dominion but of Rome’s doctrine.

  “You have issue with my marrying Brenna.” Arms folded over a broad chest, Ronan of Glenarden did not ask. He bristled. Tarlach had had no use for the hermit priest, and Ronan appeared much of the same mind.

  “I do, Rory, if that is your name.” Martin waited for Ronan to offer the truth. The priest had only seen Ronan of Glenarden at a distance during fair time. Yet this had to be the lost Glenarden.

  “It is, Brother.”

  His unwavering gaze was almost convincing, yet Brenna could have rescued none other during the Witch’s End. Certainly no mention had been made of this Rory, soldier of fortune. Martin had asked around at every nearby village and farm. Besides, that gash across this man’s cheek did not lie. Many attested to the scar earned by the six-year-old Ronan in that unholy massacre. What mischief did Ronan of Glenarden play at?

  What unseen scars of this man’s soul might ruin Brenna’s life forever?

  “Brenna is like a daughter to me, Rory of the Road, so answer me true, or may God strike you down if you lie about this. Do you love her?”

  At this, the hardness of the man’s face melted like ice before the radiance of the sun. “More than my life. She is the only reason I live … or want to live.”

  It wasn’t the words that swayed Martin, but the man’s gaze. Beyond it, his soul swelled with unmitigated earnest.

  “Are you prepared to risk everything you have for her sake? To forsake your family if need be to protect her?”

  “Brenna is a part of me. If they cannot accept her, then they reject me and I them.”

  Just what Emrys predicted. The Glenarden heir would never forsake Brenna. And that would divide his father’s house, exactly as Joanna of Gowrys predicted. But the means to the foretold peace had long eluded Martin’s grasp of this age-old conflict.

  Man sees but one step at a time, Merlin had reminded him. God sees it all, beyond the darkness.

  “You must tell Brenna the truth, Ronan of Glenarden,” Martin said.

  Upon seeing Martin’s resolve, Ronan at last relented. “I will. You have my word, Brother … after I’ve prepared my family to receive her.”

  “Then wait to marry her. Do not taint your vows with deception.”

  “She has more protection as my wife and the mother of Glenarden’s heir,” Ronan pointed out.

  That was true, but such security was brief. Many a woman’s life ended with the delivery of an heir, and the death was not always a natural consequence.

  “Besides, if you hadn’t noticed, my bride is most set on this ceremony,” Ronan said. “To the point that she would marry me even if I were to get her with child and abandon her.” Again wonder claimed the man, taking away lines that a life of bitterness had etched on his young brow. “I do not deserve her.”

  “Aye,” Martin agreed. He still didn’t like Brenna marrying a man who would lie to her, despite his obvious love. “Things have changed at Glenarden. Caden rules in your stead—”

  Ronan erupted in a short humorless laugh. “That does not surprise me.”

  “And your brother Alyn is now hostage with the Gowrys.”

  The man blanched. “What?”

  “As the Gowrys prince is hostage at Glenarden,” Martin hastily added. “In retaliation for your disappearance, Caden led a devastating raid against the Gowrys, killing the eldest prince. They pled for justice from Arthur, and Merlin Emrys conducted the exchange to keep peace.”

  Ronan stared up at the pine overhead, evergreen against the spring blue sky. “I hadn’t thought about the consequences for the Gowrys regarding my disappearance. I thought Caden would have my bed in the master chamber before it grew cold, but—”

  “So there is peace,” Martin informed him, “tentative as it is. As such, the marriage could wait—”

  “Nay, Martin. Marry us now.” Ronan’s fierceness softened. “Give us this night unmarred by my father’s black deed. And I give you my word that I will go to Glenarden and right all its consequent wrongs.”

  “You’ll take Brenna?”

  “Nay.” The man assumed a stance that told Martin he had no intention of being moved. “I’ll not risk her life. She’ll be safe here till I’ve prepared Father. Then I’ll come for her.”

  “What of your lie to her? Will you marry her falsely?”

  Ronan hesitated.

  Martin allowed the man time to wrestle with his guilt. He was a good man … but stubborn.

  “Only till I’m certain she’ll be safe.”

  “Son,” Martin pleaded, “’tis no way to start a marriage. You’ve enough against your happiness as it is.”

  “I only led her to believe I was someone else because I feared for my life at first. Surely
you can understand that.”

  “She loves you now, laddie. What will she say when she finds out she’s not married to the man she fell in love with?”

  “I am the same man.”

  “In your eyes, yes. But will she see you as the same man? She has opened herself up to you with complete honesty, complete innocence and trust.”

  “Then marry us again later,” Ronan snapped. “Marry us daily if you must.”

  Martin held his peace, what little God afforded him in this. Christ does not dictate. He gives free choice.

  “So tell me now, Brother. Will you marry us or nay?”

  Martin shuddered. He had his orders. Yet he could not condone this. “I leave that decision to you, Ronan of Glenarden. How is it you would have your life with Brenna begin? In honesty and trust, or in the darkness that has plagued you and yours since your first breath?”

  For a moment, Martin thought the Glenarden had been exposed to the wolf too long, for his lip curled into a snarl, silent, but no less hostile. With a muffled curse Ronan pivoted and stomped off into the forest that had once concealed Brenna’s whereabouts … until she brought him there.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Something was wrong. Brenna knew it the moment she set sight on Brother Martin’s face. Yet he insisted that Rory had gone off to pray after his confession.

  “He’ll be back soon, and we’ll proceed as planned.”

  Confession, Brenna thought as she made tea to pass the time. What had Rory confessed? A child’s part in the murderous raid on the Gowrys? Surely God had not held that against him.

  The questions plagued her as she carried the tea out to Martin … until she spied Rory and Faol making their way up the almost hidden path to the cave.

  “I’d begun to think you’d turned coward and run,” she called out to him, smiling.

  But Rory did not smile back. Nor could she see beyond the hard wall of his expression. Dread ran Brenna through. “What is it, Rory?”