"The palm of my hand surely is. Since I have no other choice regarding our betrothal, she will quickly learn to follow my instructions or end up across my lap. That, my good steward, is a promise."
***
Shannon rubbed her forehead. The image of a severe looking, dark-haired man with piercing black eyes still wavered before her. She looked up as a sister entered her chambers.
"Shannon? You were screaming. You'd best have a good reason to wake up the entire Abbey," the older woman said firmly. "Please tell me that you are not throwing another tantrum. This journey will happen for you whether you wish it to or not, and the caning you received earlier was not severe enough to keep you awake."
"I had that terrible dream again, but this time, it felt real," Shannon said, wiping the perspiration off her face. "The only way to escape it was to call out."
"A dream that set you to keening? Tell me about this dream," The sister sat upon the edge of the straw-stuffed mattress.
"There is little to it. His head appeared alone, but I only saw an expression of tremendous anger and disgust. He had a face, yet he did not." Shannon shook her head, snatching her long, thick braid in her hand. "His hatred… it frightened me. It was death. It was coming for me and I could not escape it."
"Have you had dreams such as this before?"
"No, never like this," Shannon sighed, accepting the mug of watered wine. "What does it mean?"
"I don't know, child. Perhaps it is your anxiety. Come sit next to me and we will run through your exercises. They will calm you."
Shannon sighed and nodded, watching as the sister placed a candle on the dirt floor before them.
"Spark the flame and draw it into the air. Hold it steady with no flickering. The flame is your consciousness. Focus…"
Shannon closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, finding the quiet place inside her heart. She placed the palm of her hand two spans above the wick and slowed her breathing. The cotton stalk smoldered, and then burst into an orange and blue flame. Her head started to pound as she focused on the image of a slim line of fire stretching to touch the center of her bare hand.
"Concentrate, child. The flame is swaying," the sister said, lifting the birch bundle that was permanently perched against a wall.
"Please, no birch this time. I beg you."
"Shannon, you know it is easy to conjure when you are at peace, less so when you fight against your pain. Keep your attention upon your task."
"May I sing?"
"No."
Shannon bit her lip in dread of the moment when the flame touched her palm. The swishing sound of the birch distracted her, as did the biting sting slicing across her back. She cried out as the flame exploded against her hand and seared her flesh. She gritted her teeth to the pain, hissing as the birch bundle whipped into her shoulders at a rate that sent bits and pieces flying every which way.
"Raise the flame, girl! Higher!"
Shannon's tears began to fall as her back throbbed with the cutting bites of the whirring birch. Over and over again, the sticks fell against her thinly clad skin, until spots of blood began to seep through the rough linen.
The flame was suddenly extinguished with a loud pop. "I can't," Shannon sobbed, clutching her scorched hand before collapsing to the hard floor. Cool rags were placed over the shredded fabric of her dressing gown as she hunched over her knees, and trails of mud began to form as her tears mixed with the dirt below.
"I have failed the Sisterhood," Shannon cried. "I beg forgiveness."
"Nonsense." A second woman entered the cubicle. "You did not call upon your screams. One day you will be able to pull the flame through your hand, but you must learn to control your mind and disregard the pain and fear."
"It cannot be done, Grand Dame. I am so sorry."
"Defeat only comes when one ceases to try. This exercise," the Grand Dame said, placing her hand over the snuffed candle, "is only the beginning. It teaches you how to call upon the forces of nature, even in the middle of chaos. This discipline will save your life outside of these walls."
Shannon watched in awe as the wick burst into a thick flame and began to rise towards the old woman's palm. It touched the center of her hand and Shannon could smell the burning flesh. Yet, the Grand Dame did not cry out. Shannon's mouth hung open as the flame sizzled its way through the old hand and rose above it, until it was so thin that it could no longer be seen.
And then it vanished.
The Grand Dame smiled and showed Shannon the tiny black hole that had burned clean through her palm.
"Does that not hurt?" Shannon asked, awed.
"I will not allow the pain to take away my concentration. But yes, it does. Very much."
Shannon hesitated, fascinated by the smoldering injury. She reached forward with her index finger and touched the wound, then yipped as a tiny, sharp bite was felt in her fingers. The Grand Dame gasped.
"What have you done, child?" she choked out.
"I did not want you to feel such torment. Was taking that from you an evil thing?" Shannon looked fearfully at the broken birch, her back still feeling quite shredded.
"The injury remains, but the pain is gone." The Grand Dame shook her head, dumbstruck by the discovery. "You have been with us since you were a child, and yet we never knew you to be capable of such a miraculous feat! Are you able to take pain from yourself as well?"
"No, Grand Dame. Had I been able to work such a trick then I would not have been concerned about the frequent switchings."
"This is true. What does it feel like?"
"My fingers grow warm and then the energy jumps from my hand. It feels as though a small bird pecked my fingers. Then it is done. As you see, it does not mend the injury, it merely removes the pain."
"Perhaps you can learn to heal by conjuring."
"I fear that gift is not mine. Had it been, King Malkai would still be alive," Shannon said sadly, picking up her comb.
"Give that to me," the Grand Dame ordered. She began to gently run it through Shannon's locks. "You must pursue a way to control your thoughts when distressed. That discipline will be what keeps true evil from harming you."
Shannon began to relax, soothed by the combing. "Mother used the comb my hair when I was distressed," she said aloud. "Grand Dame? This place I am going to—Moldavia—is it bound by rules of the common religion? Will I be declared a demon?"
"The sins and judgment of this world are everywhere, my dear daughter," the old lady sighed, stroking Shannon's head. "Trust no one with your secret. Use it only to defend your life or help those in need, but let no one know that it is in you."
"No one? Not even my husband to be?"
The Grand Dame looked at the young woman with sorrow. "Your birth-father killed your mother because of ignorance and hate. He fueled his jealousy by stirring forth fear, and when people are afraid, they cease to reason. You cannot trust that anyone, not even a husband, will protect you, or that he will see what you have as being a gift."
"But Domitri's father knew of it. He also told me that his son had gifts as well."
"King Malkai sought you out and chose to be a part of your life. King Domitri did not. His letters are poisoned with resentment about this arrangement. I tell you this not to distress you, but to protect you. Do not trust him until he has earned that trust, Shannon. Please."
"Perhaps that dream was a vision of warning," Shannon sighed. She straightened herself upon the edge of the bed and repositioned the candle on the floor. "Let me try this again. Without the birch."
"Very well. But then you must prepare to leave. Your carriage will be arriving at any time after the sun rises."
"I will miss you," Shannon said quietly, facing the floor.
"I will miss you as well. But we all have our destinies to fulfill. Now, stretch the flame. I have faith in your abilities. You must have them too. Good girl…"
CHAPTER 4
Shannon stared across the yard at the Abbey, memorizing every detail of the old stone wa
lls and trampled paths. Her long red hair blew loosely in the breeze, simply adorned with the ivory comb that held a single golden chain draped across her forehead. Her tresses were lifted off her bared shoulders, as though a lover sought the sweetness of her swan-like neck. As the gentle wind kissed her pale flesh, the long, fine linen skirt of her kirtle flapped around her stocking-covered legs. She had refused to wear the green velvet surcote and the stiff, broad hat, complaining that the extra layers of clothing made her feel claustrophobic. To the dismay of the Grand Dame, the men's braies also remained beneath her elegant attire, hidden under the exceedingly long and impractical skirt.
"Shannon! Shannon McCleary! Where have you gone off to?"
Shannon sighed, and carefully balanced her beaded ivory satin slippers over the rocks and grasses, making her way in the direction of the summons.
"Where have you been? The carriage has arrived," the Grand Dame said, clucking over her appearance. "You are a lady now. No more running into the bogs or playing in the mud, child."
"I do not know why I must dress in this gown. Why not allow me to wear more comfortable clothing? These shoes pinch my feet and my legs are entangled in all of this hideous cloth."
"You frown like a surly old lady," the Grand Dame chuckled. "You are being transported to your future husband as a gift. He sent these clothes for you to wear and you shall do so. You must don your surcote and hat."
"I will not. They are too restricting, and I already dread traveling within a carriage."
"You will appreciate a carriage keeping you dry and warm during the rain. It is rather large, as well. In fact," the Grand Dame's eyes twinkled, "I heard tell that the ship's captain complained about it taking up the room of a dozen men."
"I would much rather be permitted to ride upon the back of a horse. Like a man." Shannon scowled. "The carriage is an unnecessary burden. I loathe being confined within four walls without fresh air or the sound of the breeze."
"This stubborn nature of yours must be tamed, my dear. King Malkai sent you to us to teach you the control of your gifts, and to provide a generous education well beyond that of the average noblewoman. Your knowledge of the subjects of science and maths alone will be difficult for most men to accept, but your insistence of exhibiting manly behavior will not be tolerated. You must exercise restraint, Shannon. I beg of you."
"How can one exercise restraint when they are being suffocated by society's expectations? You are asking me to walk into a cage and learn to be content!"
"I am telling you that your future has already been decided for you, and that you must find a means to accept it with grace and dignity."
"This all feels wrong to me. I was not born to be some man's mindless showpiece." An owl hooted above them and Shannon spun around at the sound. "See? That was an omen. I am not to go on this journey."
"That, dear child, was an owl. You have no choice. Your destiny has been written. Come. Put the mask of a queen upon your face and present yourself to your escort with pride and dignity."
Shannon scowled in a most unregal manner as she was wrestled into the heavy brocade over-dress, and offered an unqueenly whine as the hat was pinned to her tightly braided hair. After being warned to neither remove the items, nor make any attempts to set them aflame, Shannon was helped into a garishly opulent carriage decorated with mahogany carvings, gold leaf inlays and large red wheels. The mother-of-pearl image of a large, white stork clutching a spear in its claws graced the door. A set of perfectly matched black horses bore equally ornate harnesses, including tiny silver bells braided into their long, plaited manes. Yards of red velvet hung from the windows and padded the overstuffed cushions inside.
"What a pretty prison," Shannon grumbled under her breath. "Am I being permitted to travel alone and without an escort?" she asked the Grand Dame from the door.
The old women frowned. "Your escort is the kings' men. I am told that, besides the four here, there are another six awaiting you on the mainland."
"But, should I not have a woman with me to safeguard my virtue?"
The Grand Dame chuckled. "I have no doubt about your ability to guard your own virtue, child. As for companionship, my old bones cannot make the journey, and the other sisters refused."
"They are afraid of me, aren't they?" Shannon asked, both with sadness and relief. She truly didn't want company, nor could she blame the gentle woman for not wishing to make the horrendous journey with her. Away from the ruin-covered walls of the abbey, they had no protection from her temper, or her gift.
"They fear your lack of self-control once you are gone from here. Only a few of them share the bloodlines that shields them completely from your screams, but even they cannot handle your temper when you are riled. The symbols of protection do not guard any of us from the headaches you bring."
Shannon wrinkled her nose. "I do apologize for those. How is it that you are immune to my cries? Other than my mother and King Malkai, I have not met another."
"A banshee attached herself to my family, as one did yours. To the world," the woman said in a hushed tone, "I am a faithful follower of the good Lord. Indeed, I love and honor His words and His sacrifices. But, as the sun sinks in the horizon, I lift my face to the moon and worship with the druids. That is where I receive my peace and my power."
"Will the moon shine as brightly in this new land?" Shannon asked mournfully.
"It will burn brighter than a candle. Do you remember the dances of your mother?"
"They are as part of me as breathing. Why do you ask?"
"When you feel frightened, weak or uncertain, find a meadow where you can hide from sight. Dance under the moon. It will strengthen your spirit."
"I shall do just that. Thank you for all you have done." Shannon took the withered old hand and kissed it.
The Grand Dame handed her a green velvet travel bag, unsuccessfully hiding the moisture in her ancient eyes. "Accept this gift as a token of my love and prayers. I have placed all your items in it, including a pouch of medicines. Have a blessed life, my child. Send a raven when you arrive."
Shannon hugged the old woman warmly, and started away. The Grand Dame snatched her by the wrist and pulled back, putting Shannon's ear to her mouth. "One final word, child. If doubt comes to you, look for the spark."
"What?"
"You will know when you see it. Be gone with you, my little darling."
Shannon sat back against the soft seat of the carriage and watched as the driver closed the door. Her heart ached as she recalled the pain in the old woman's eyes. The love she and the Grand Dame shared was special, but not in the same manner as that she had had with her mother or King Malkai. No one could give, and nothing could replace, that type of love.
There was no turning back. Her journey to this new land had begun and she could not deny the warm trickle of excitement that quivered through her bones. She glanced at the wrapped portrait of her mother and spoke to her spirit. "It seems that King Malkai got his wish, Mama. We are both on our way to Moldavia. What grand adventures we will share. But first, these horrid garments are coming off. I cannot breathe in such contraptions!"
***
"'Tis bad luck to have a woman aboard a vessel," the one-legged captain grumbled, within Shannon's hearing. "To take on this beast of a carriage, horses, and the king's men is bad enough, but a woman?"
"A woman dressed in white with hair the color of fire, no less," the first mate shuddered. "It is said that she be of banshee blood and the daughter of the king's witch."
"King Malkai was a good man," the captain snapped. "He was a holy and righteous man. He would not be taken with a witch, nor would his son."
"Pardon me." Shannon lifted her chin and stood regally before the two. "It is rude to discuss a lady within her earshot. If you have something to say to, or about me, you may cease being cowards and do so to my face."
The first mate blushed and shimmied away, leaving Shannon to stare directly into the single eye of Captain Barton. "I'm waiting," she sai
d, hands on her hips.
"And you will keep waiting, my lady," the gnarled, bearded man said sarcastically with a deep bow.
Shannon pushed down her anger. "I have plenty of patience," she said. "What direction are we heading?"
"The king has ordered us to take the northern route and deliver you to his representative in Denmark. From there you will travel by carriage."
Shannon looked alarmed. "Is that safe? The feuds and political unrest are said to be great."
"King Malkai had many strong allies that have outlasted the petty feuds. What allies he did not acquire, King Domitri has. It is said that he has a gift of persuasion, and few exist who can deny him his desires. He will not accept the word 'no' from anyone when he wants something."
"He sounds like a spoiled, arrogant child," Shannon huffed.
"He is your king and your lord, woman. Speak not against him."
Shannon narrowed her eyes. "I will speak in any way I desire. If he is threatened by my words, then he can be man enough to say so."
"The very first thing he should do is thrash your bottom and teach you submission."
"I will remind you, Captain," Shannon stared directly at him from a stately height of five feet six inches, "that while he is your king, I will also be your queen. Take care of your behavior around me."
The man laughed in her face. "I have tried for fifty years to get myself executed so that I might die in honor. The threats of a girl child do not make me tremble. Now you must leave to perform woman's work, while I get my ship underway."
Shannon fumed as the man limped away from her. She gripped her braid in both hands, summoning the image of the flame and the birch before she acted upon the desire to set his peg-leg ablaze. She turned and collided with a tall, broad-chested man dressed in black breeches and a billowing, ivory colored shirt. Stepping back, Shannon took in the sight of the dark layer of chest hair, a slender waist, long shapely calves and bare feet.
Her King's Command Page 4
