Healer

by Linda Windsor

  The image of Tarlach rising like an ancient phoenix from the wagon bed with battle-axe brandished and letting it fly straight at Heming’s head.

  His men lying asleep and unharmed thanks to the herbs that had been meant to render them helpless. Had they not slept through the fighting, it would have been hard to discern the Gowrys from his captors.

  Heartened by Ronan’s hesitation, Brenna stroked Caden’s wild, flaxen hair off his face. “In the name of Jesus, thy spirit be healed, Caden of Glenarden, freed by Him who has fought the battle for you and won.”

  “Thy spirit be healed.”

  The strange voice in Ronan’s head conjured the image of Faol—one moment bearing his teeth at Ronan and the next, laying his snout on Ronan’s hand. Healed of his distrust. Forgiving.

  Then there was Brenna’s pardon … and Arthur’s.

  Father God, I cannot be so merciful. I do not have it in me.

  “I am in you.”

  God? In me? Even as he wondered, Ronan could feel, could see in his mind’s eye, the beast lie down. Thus enabled, he withdrew his sword from Caden’s throat. The beast was still wary, but willing.

  “A willing heart is all I need.”

  Ronan became aware of the men gathered ’round them, watching him. Waiting for him to lead them. To be worthy of their loyalty. He sought out Egan O’Toole and Donal of Gowrys.

  And suddenly birdsong burst from the trees beyond them, celebrating the new day. The frolic of the burn resumed.

  “Bind him soundly,” Ronan ordered, taking the caution of kicking the discarded daggers away from his brother’s reach. “Arthur be your judge on This Side,” he told Caden gravely, “and God on the Other.”

  Epilogue

  Brenna tried to reduce the swelling in her tear-swollen eyes with cold water before rejoining the people of Glenarden and their guests at Tarlach’s funeral feast. She’d forgiven Tarlach but never dreamed she’d grieve him so. It had been two weeks since they’d returned to Glenarden. Two weeks since the Christian burial the family and Brother Martin had given the old chieftain in the glen that Tarlach had ceded to the church years before at the behest of his wife, Aeda.

  Ronan’s mother would be pleased to see that her hope of an outdoor chapel was soon to become a small church—the beginning, perhaps, of a monastery. Brother Martin’s new helpers were most industrious.

  The door to the small bedchamber that she and Ronan still occupied opened, admitting her husband. Concern darkened his gaze as he took in her sadness.

  “The feast is near its end,” he told her. “Are you ill?”

  “I wish I’d known your mother,” she lamented. Faith, would this waterfall ever cease?

  An empathetic smile creased his lips. “She would have loved you.” He closed the distance between them and placed his hand on her abdomen. “Perhaps you and the little one should rest. There is no need for you to endure Caden’s judgment.”

  With the feasting complete, it was time for the business Merlin Emrys and the queen were to officiate. How sad that they should mourn the father and condemn his son on the same day.

  Brenna shook her head. “I … we,” she insisted, “are fine. It’s my eyes that won’t stop watering. Poor Vychan has had all the preparations fall on his shoulders—”

  “Vychan is glad to have his household return to order,” Ronan assured her.

  With the fair at last ended, it was only natural for the Glenarden’s friends and family to pay their respects and for Arthur to deal with Caden’s murderous treachery. The prodigal himself had remained in Glenarden’s prison, shunned by all save Brenna and Brother Martin, who’d prayed for him daily.

  Brenna would be there to speak on the broken man’s behalf, whether Caden wanted it or not. “I shall blame Ailill for my distress,” she announced halfheartedly, turning to rummage through her medicine bag.

  Ronan’s fervent “Aye” echoed her sentiment.

  During the course of the feast, the bard’s dramatic rendition of the peace and battle betrayal had sent shivers up and down Brenna’s spine and wrenched her heart. In perfect rhyme and meter so as never to be misrepresented, Tarlach, the redeemed murderer, emerged as the hero. It was, as he’d said himself, a fitting end.

  “There,” she said, pulling out a small jar. She opened it and dabbed a little of the drawing cream under her eyes. “If they look like red puffing toads after this, then so be it.”

  “Those eyes could never resemble anything but the blue of a highland lake.” Ronan took time to kiss each one before they entered the hall proper.

  Brenna chuckled. “Now who’s the poet?”

  The hall was filled with delicious scents of food, drink, and fresh threshing. As Ronan escorted her to her seat next to his in Tarlach’s tooled leather chair, Merlin Emrys, Martin, Egan, and Alyn rose. Such attention caused Brenna’s cheeks to warm. It still seemed unreal, this new life of hers. Yet there was Queen Gwenhyfar at her side taking in every aspect of Brenna’s appearance with her slanted green gaze.

  “Worry not, Lady Brenna. All expectant mothers develop an odd connection between the bladder and the eyes,” she confided behind her ringed hand. “I remember well my term with Lohot.”

  Arthur’s heir, now a warrior in his father’s warband.

  “That would explain it then, Your Highness,” Brenna replied.

  “To Joanna’s daughter, I am Anora.”

  “Anora.” The queen’s given name? Then Gwenhyfar was a title, wife to the Arthur, even if Arthur happened to be this one’s given name as well.

  “I am honored … Anora.”

  The appearance of the guards in the main hall entrance with Caden, arms bound behind him, cut their conversation short. Cut all conversation in the hall off completely, so that their footfalls on the plank flooring echoed their approach to where the Glenarden and his guests sat. Ronan stiffened next to Brenna. Since he’d walked away from Caden the day of his capture, he’d not allowed her to speak of his brother in his presence. Caden was dead to him, even if he still breathed.

  Merlin Emrys gathered his staff and rose on stiff knees to leave the table and face the accused alone. Shed of his cape, the older man was not nearly as imposing. Still tall, his shoulders were bent from the weight of time and the service he’d dedicated to the Creator God. But when he spoke, he swelled with authority.

  “Caden of Glenarden, you stand accused of the lowest treachery and grievous ambition. This is your chance to defend yourself. Do you understand?”

  “Aye,” the prisoner responded.

  Caden looked horrible. He’d lost weight. His normally clean-shaven good looks were shaggy and filthy with neglect from refusing the bathwater and soap provided him by Brenna. But it was his eyes that told it all. They were empty, truly empty this time. No hate, no jealousy … no hope.

  “Did you not conspire to murder your father and brother … and any who sought to stop you from becoming chieftain of Glenarden?”

  “I did.” Caden’s answer was as hollow as his gaze.

  “Had you any cause beyond greed and ambition?”

  “I did not.”

  Brother Martin cleared his throat. “If I may, Merlin.” At Merlin’s nod the priest spoke on. “Many, including myself, were witness to a most unusual circumstance. From my knowledge of Scripture, this man had been possessed with a demon summoned by necromancy.”

  A wave of uneasiness rippled through the onlookers.

  “He wasn’t himself,” Brenna chimed in, half-rising from her bench. At Merlin’s reproving look, she sat back down. Better Brother Martin testify. He was the knowledgeable one.

  Brenna herself could hardly recall what had happened that morning. Just this driving desperation to help her husband, to stop Caden. But the moment she’d laid hands on the man, she saw, not Caden, but something so hideous it still turned her blood cold. It frightened her, for in her soul, she knew no sword or stone threatened it. Only the praise of God, the declaration of Jesus’ name. In desperation she had g
rasped at God’s Word, repeating what came to her mind, praying from the bottom of her faith.

  “The only demon at fault was me,” Caden said.

  “I saw it,” Brenna blurted out. She caught her lip belatedly.

  “We,” Martin said, sending a glance of approval her way, “fought it with praise and prayer.”

  “Unto you it is given to know the mysteries of the kingdom of God: but to others in parables; that seeing they might not see, and hearing they might not understand,” the merlin quoted from Luke.

  “If, and I mean if,” Ronan emphasized, “there was such a demon in my brother, then it had food to feast upon.”

  “He speaks truth,” Caden agreed, adding with sarcasm, “as always, the good brother, aren’t you, Ronan?” The man would not help himself. “You said yourself, Brother Martin, that no demon could possess a man filled with the Holy Spirit.”

  “I also said that you were by God’s grace given a second chance to invite it in.”

  “I wouldn’t dirty His linen,” Caden replied.

  “So you are unrepentant?” Merlin Emrys asked the prisoner.

  “If you mean, do I regret what I did, then, aye, I do. So much so that if you champion any real justice … or mercy,” Caden added for Martin’s sake, “you will give me death.”

  Now the room buzzed with anticipation. Merlin Emrys’ face gave no hint of what was going on behind the steel of his gaze.

  “That is what you have requested,” he said after a lengthy pause. “But that request is denied.”

  Ronan shot to his feet. “What?”

  Brenna closed her eyes. Father God, help me crack the shell he’s put about his heart.

  “In time.”

  “You are hereby exiled from Glenarden,” Merlin announced. “Return by penalty of death.”

  Several protests rose from the men who had been drugged by Caden, who believed him responsible for the Glenarden’s death and nearly their own. Others more loyal to Caden contested the objection, declaring Rhianon and her nurse the real villains.

  Ronan sat stone-like, his only movement the twitch of muscle at his temples.

  Brenna placed a hand on his arm. “I pray that if our son is ever in serious trouble, that God will extend the same mercy to him … for I could not bear it, otherwise.”

  The twitch stopped. The veins hedging it faded with the unclenching of her husband’s jaw.

  “You are a hard woman to argue with,” he said without looking in her direction. Instead Ronan watched his brother being led out. Alyn, who until now had remained silent, left the table to rush after his exiled brother.

  “God has plans for you, Caden,” Brother Martin called after them. The promise from Jeremiah rang loud and clear above the din of dissension. “Plans to prosper, not harm you. Plans to give you hope, Caden. If you will but call to the Father, He will harken.”

  “God may harken,” Ronan drawled laconically, “but it will be a long time before I can find forgiveness in my heart for what Caden’s done.”

  Brenna folded his hand over hers and kissed it. “Then I shall spend a long time tending that heart until it’s fully healed.”

  For her Shepherd’s plan was for all of His children.

  … a little more …

  When a delightful concert comes to an end,

  the orchestra might offer an encore.

  When a fine meal comes to an end,

  it’s always nice to savor a bit of dessert.

  When a great story comes to an end,

  we think you may want to linger.

  And so we offer …

  AfterWords—just a little something more after you

  have finished a David C. Cook novel.

  We invite you to stay awhile in the story.

  Thanks for reading!

  Turn the page for …

  • Glossary

  • Arthurian Characters

  • The Grail Palace

  • Bibliography

  • Scripture References

  • About the Author

  • Prologue from

  Thief

  Glossary

  Alba—Scotland

  Albion—the Isle of Britain

  Alcut/Alclyd—Dumbarton on Firth of Clyde

  anmchara—soulmate

  arthur—title passed down from Stone Age Britain meaning “the bear,” or “protector,” connected with the constellation of the Big Dipper; equivalent of Dux Bellorum and Pendragon; the given name of Arthur, prince of Dalraida

  a stór—darling

  Ballach—Ronan’s horse, meaning “speckled”

  behoved—beholdened

  Ben Ledi—Mountain of Light, the first of the highland mountains beyond Stirling’s pass

  braccae—Latin for woolen drawstring trousers or pants, either knee-or ankle-length

  cariad—dearest

  Carmelide—Carlisle

  Cennalath—ken’-nah-lot, Pictish king of the Orkneys

  Dux Bellorum—Latin for duke of war, commander general; see arthur

  earthways—to death/burial

  fell—rocky hill

  fodere—deceiver

  foolrede—foolishness

  Gwenhyfar—Guinevere; considered by some scholars to have been a title like arthur and merlin, as well as a given name. Some scholars believe the Pictish Gwenhyfar was called Anora.

  Joseph, the—the high priest of the Grail Palace on the Sacred Isle

  Long Dark—the winter

  mathair—mother

  merlin—title for the advisor to the king, often a prophet or seer; sometimes druidic Christian as in Merlin Emrys, or not, as Merlin Sylvester

  Merlin Emrys (Ambrosius)—the prophet/seer/Celtic Christian priest descended from the Pendragon Ambrosius Aurelius, thought to be Arthur’s Merlin, suggested to be buried on Bardsley Island

  Merlin Sylvester—the prophet/seer to Gwendoleu of Gwynedd’s pagan court; the bard said to have gone mad after the Battle of Arthuret

  mind—remember or recall

  mo chroi—my heart

  Mountain of Light—see Ben Ledi

  nun day—noon-day meal

  Pendragon—Cymri for “head dragon,” dragon being a symbol of knowledge/power; see arthur

  rath—walled keep and/or village

  sandarach—arsenic mentioned by Socrates in fourth-century BC

  souterrain—underground chamber for storage, defense, and escape

  Strighlagh—strī’-lăk; Stirling

  Sun Season—summer

  tuath—tuhth; kingdom, clan land

  widdershins—counterclockwise

  Arthurian Characters

  Most scholars agree that Arthur, Guinevere, and Merlin were titles shared by various personas throughout the late fifth and sixth centuries. These are the late sixth-century characters. Because of inconsistent dating, multiple persons sharing the same titles and/or names, and place names as well as texts recorded in at least six languages, I again quote Nenius: “I’ve made a heap of all I could find.”

  * historically documented individuals

  *Arthur—Prince of Dalraida, Dux Bellorum (Duke of War) or Pendragon/High King of Britain, although he held no land of his own. He is a king of landed kings, their battle leader. A Pendragon at this time can have no kingdom of his own to avoid conflict of interest. Hence, Gwenhyfar is rightful queen of her lands, Prince Arthur’s through marriage. Arthur is the historic son of Aedan of Dalraida/Scotland, descended from royal Irish of the Davidic bloodline preserved by the marriage of Zedekiah’s daughter Tamar to the Milesian king of Ireland Eoghan in 587 BC. Ironically the Milesians are descended from the bloodline of Zarah, the “Red Hand” twin of Pharez (David and Jesus’ ancestor) in the book of Genesis. Thus the breach of Judah prophesied in Isaiah was mended by this marriage of very distant cousins.

  *Aedan of Dalraida—Arthur’s father, Aedan, was Pendragon of Britain for a short time and prince of Manau Gododdin by his mother’s Pictish blood (like Arthur was p
rince of Dalraida because of his marriage to Gwenhyfar). When Aedan’s father, the king of Dalraida, died, Aedan became king of the more powerful kingdom, and he abandoned Manau Gododdin. For that abandonment, he is oft referred to as Uther Pendragon, uther meaning “the terrible.” He sent his son Arthur to take his place as Pendragon and Manau’s protector.

  Angus—the Lance of Lothian. Although this Dalraida Arthur had no Lancelot as his predecessor did, Angus is the appointed king of Stirlingshire and protector of his Pictish Queen Gwenhyfar and her land of Strighlagh. Like his ancestral namesake Lancelot, his land of Berwick in Lothian now belongs to Cennalot, who is defeated by Arthur. (See Cennalot and Brude.) Angus is Arthur’s head of artillery. It is thought he was raised at the Grail Castle and was about ten or so years younger than his lady Gwenhyfar.

  Scholar/researcher Norma Lorre Goodrich suggests he may have been a fraternal twin to Modred or Metcault. In that case it would explain Lance not knowing who he really was until he came of age, as women who bore twins were usually executed. The second child was thought to be spawn of the Devil. Naturally Morgause would have hidden the twins’ birth by casting one out, only to have him rescued by her sister, the Lady of the Lake, or Vivianne Del Acqs. This scenario happened as well in many of the saints’ lives, such as St. Kentigern. Their mothers were condemned to death for consorting with the Devil and begetting a second child. Yet miraculously these women lived and the cast-off child became a saint.

  *Brude/Bridei—see Cennalot/Cennalath/Lot of Lothian.

  *Cennalot/Cennalath/Lot of Lothian—Arthur’s uncle by marriage to Morgause. This king of eastern Pictland and the Orkneys was all that stood between his Pictish cousin Brude reigning over all of Pictland. Was it coincidence that Arthur, whose younger brother, Gairtnat, married Brude’s daughter and became king of the Picts at Brude’s death, decided to take out this Cennalot while Brude looked the other way? Add that to the fact that Cennalot was rubbing elbows with the Saxons and looking greedily at Manau Gododdin, and it was just a matter of time before either Brude or Arthur got rid of him.

  *Dupric, Bishop of Llandalf—wants to start a monastery on land where Brother Martin lives (a historical bishop who may also be Merlin Emrys per Norma Goodrich).