“I wish I could remember,” Taylor whispered, staring at her hands in her lap.
“Dinna be sad,” Quinlan murmured softly. “Perhaps…someday ye will.”
Sitting in silence, they both stared into the glowing stones; one lost in the memories of the past and one still searching for the memories lost. Quinlan reached over to gently take Taylor’s hand, encircling it with his own.
His face suddenly serious, Quinlan heaved a sigh as he slowly rubbed the back of Taylor’s gloved hand. “Taylor…there’s another reason I brought ye to this place,” he paused, his voice faltering as he spoke.
Waiting patiently, Taylor remained silent, curious as to what Quinlan was about to confess.
“I know ye canna remember being m’wife…or speaking the vows to take me as your own. But…for your own safety…at the Feast of the Full Moon, ye must act as though ye remember each and every detail.”
“Feast of the Full Moon…I don’t understand. What are you talking about, Quinlan?” The wind growing stronger, Taylor shivered, the comfortable heat of the crystals seeming to ebb.
“The Feast of the Full Moon,” Quinlan explained with a frown. “Is a gathering…of all the clans in this part of the land. This feast…’tis my turn to host the Nobility as well as the paupers.”
“Okay,” Taylor replied slowly, her face drawn up into a confused scowl. “But I still don’t understand why I wouldn’t be safe. Everyone’s been so kind…and look at all the gifts they’ve sent since the birth of the calves.”
“’Tis hard to explain,” Quinlan muttered in frustration, bending to stir the rocks for more heat. “But the customs here are different…especially the beliefs concerning yourself. Ye might say ye’re revered…as well as coveted.”
“Coveted?” Taylor repeated in disbelief. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Aye, it makes all the sense in the world…once ye hear the rest of the legend.” Quinlan wrapped the tail of his cloak over his lap, the heating crystals continuing to fail. They’d have to be starting back to the castle soon, or they’d both be frozen solid.
“What legend?” Taylor asked, snuggling closer to Quinlan, her face wrought with worry.
“Since ye are the last of your line…the last of the Ancient Ones. Gifted with being one with the land as well as all living things, any child ye might bring into this world…if fathered by an equally gifted sprite, would be truly powerful indeed.” A humorless smile slowly pulling at his lips, Quinlan snorted as he continued. “That’s one reason I’m barely tolerated in this place…for I had the gall to steal the heart of the legend. The sprites have abused m’lands for years, hoping to drive me away into the outer reaches.”
Rising from the bench, Taylor frowned at Quinlan, shaking her head in confusion. “So…how am I in danger?” Glancing at the surrounding woods, Taylor was already apprehensive.
“If the noble sprites find out ye canna remember being m’wife, as far as they’re concerned…that makes ye available to take as a mate.” Quinlan stood, shaking the falling snow from his cloak as he wrapped it tightly about his shoulders.
Her mouth dropping open in shock, Taylor grew angry, stamping one foot in the snow. “Why I’d never dream of marrying one of those sprites. I happen to prefer staying within my own species!”
“To them it doesna’ matter whether ye’d choose them or not.” Quinlan took Taylor’s arm as they started down the hill through the falling snow. “To the sprites…all that matters is that ye’re able to breed…and if they can kidnap ye from me…all the better.”
Chapter Eighteen
“What in the name of the Furies are ye doin’ lad?” Magnus asked as he walked into the workroom.
Standing at the waist high bench, Quinlan cupped a mortar and pestle in his hands. Patiently grinding as he hummed a nameless tune under his breath, he didn’t look up as Magnus entered. Scraping the ochre colored paste into a small vessel, he poured hot wax from a nearby candle over the small glop of color in the bottom of the bowl.
“Making a gift for Taylor.” Carefully wiping the remains of the ochre from the mortar bowl, Quinlan placed several clumps of light colored clay in the bottom. Tediously selecting a purplish dried fruit from the shelf, he tossed that in on top of the clay. Finishing the mixture with several drops of lamp oil, he took the pestle and began grinding.
“A gift?” Magnus repeated. Peering over Quinlan’s shoulder with interest, he wagged his bushy red brows. “Looks more like a mess ta’ me. Why would the lass want different colors of mud?”
“Not mud,” Quinlan corrected, sealing the second paste of color with wax. “The lass loved to paint…’twas what she did before she crossed o’er. I thought she might like to take up the craft here, as well.”
“Hmmmm.” Magnus nodded his head in understanding, frowning at the red stain left on his fingers as he smashed two oddly shaped berries between his finger and thumb. “Where did ye get the idea to make this paste. D’ye think it’ll work like the paints she used to use?”
Choosing a small bit of coal, Quinlan dropped it next into the bowl. Adding a drop of oil and experimenting with a small dollop of wax, he wrinkled his nose in disappointment as this concoction failed to mix to his liking. Adding a slimy bit of a rotted plant, he nodded in approval as the shade finally mixed to his choosing.
“I hope they’ll work. But if they don’t…I’ll just keep trying ‘til I get it right.” Raising the latest mixture to his nose, he scrunched up his face in distaste. “I just wish I could figure out a way to get rid of the awful smell. The lass will have to wear a clip on her wee nose to be able to stand the stench.”
Clapping Quinlan lightly on the shoulder, Magnus wandered over to the window. Gazing through the frost covered glass; he drummed his fingers on the windowpane. “Are things improving any between the two of ye? Taylor seems to be warming a bit.”
Wiping his hands with a rag from the top of the workbench, Quinlan nodded as he joined Magnus at the window. “Aye…she’s warmin’ to me…maybe even growing a bit fond of me as well. She still canna remember anything from the past…but at least she no longer seems to resent me.”
Wiping the frost from the window with the rag, Quinlan watched several figures moving about the grounds, bundled up against the cold. “But I must be careful, Magnus…not to frighten her. She’s as skittish as a wee colt.” Sighing, Quinlan turned from the window, checking the glue on the handles of the newly fashioned paintbrushes hanging from the rafters.
“Skittish, eh?” Magnus replied, moving from the window to stare up at the ceiling at Quinlan’s latest handiwork. Tapping the end of one of the brushes with his finger, he tilted his head to one side as he watched it swing to and fro. “I know ‘tis none of m’business lad…but…well…Taylor would be much safer…if the sprites of the household were under the impression that…” Magnus paused to clear his throat, struggling to broach the subject delicately. “Well…that…Hell, man! I’ve heard them a babblin’ with m’own ears that the Laird doesna’ share his wife’s bed.”
Glancing up from winding the twine around the base of a tight bundle of horsehair, Quinlan rolled his eyes in disbelief. “Dinna ye think I’d like to be joining Taylor in her bed, myself?” Snorting in frustration, Quinlan tossed the brush across the room into the crackling fire. “I want her so badly I think ‘twill kill me sometimes….but I dinna want to push her.” Turning from the fire, his eyes stormy with emotions, his mouth drawn into a flat line of unhappiness; Quinlan jutted his chin out defiantly as he stared into Magnus’ face. “When she’s ready…when she’s willing…that’s when I’ll join m’wife in her bed. I dinna take to the ways of the sprites…I prefer a consenting lover.”
Holding his hands up as though to fend off an attack, Magnus shook his head until his red beard waggled. “I understand…I was only tryin’ to warn ye of the gossip I happened to overhear. Have ye warned the lass of how she must act…for her own safety…at the feast?”
His face growing calme
r, Quinlan nodded, pulling a stool up beside the fire. Selecting a stick from a bundle piled on the hearth; he began smoothing the bark away with a knife. His forehead wrinkling in concentration, he carefully began shaping another handle to replace the brush he’d thrown to the fire. “Aye…I warned her when I took her to the altar stone. I hope she takes m’words to heed.”
Pulling up a second stool and leaning his elbows to his knees, Magnus stared solemnly into the flames. “For her own sake…I hope ye made her understand. I know it canna be easy for her with her memories of this place lost somewhere within her mind. But the opportunity to possess the One of legend…would be more then many of the nobility could resist.”
“I know,” muttered Quinlan, grinding his teeth in accompaniment to each stroke of his knife. His hand growing still, he looked up from the carving, his eyes narrowing as he stared into Magnus’ face. “But they better get the notion out of their heads…for I will do whatever necessary to keep m’love from harm.”
~*~
Rolling to her back, Taylor stretched beneath the covers, snuggling deeper into her pillows. “I should get up,” she thought lazily to herself, then curled over to her side. Ever since crossing through the cairn, she had been troubled with violent dreams. But finally, as she’d begun to slowly relax…hesitantly accepting her fate, the torturous nightmares had gradually begun to leave her.
Her gaze fell upon the mirror across the room, the oddly shaped jewels and crystals sparkling in the sunlight. Frowning, Taylor propped herself up on one elbow in the bed as she studied the looking glass. “I don’t remember putting that there,” she said aloud to herself. The mirror was placed facing the bed, propped in such a way that Taylor could see her entire reflection. Taylor had placed the mirror against the opposite wall, balanced atop several trunks. Finally sitting up, Taylor shrugged her shoulders. “Oh well…I guess it doesn’t matter.”
Wrapping a woolen shawl around her shoulders, Taylor padded over to the window, shivering in the chill of the room, the afternoon sun still hours a way. Rubbing one bare foot across the shin of her leg, Taylor glanced thankfully at the roughly woven matting covering the cold stone floor. Wiping the frost from the window with the corner of the shawl, Taylor squinted her eyes against the sun reflecting off the snow. She was surprised to see several bundled figures making their way across the wintry courtyard to the front door just below.
“I can’t believe people are already arriving,” she muttered under her breath. Hugging the shawl tightly about her body, Taylor frowned at the fluttering of apprehension winging through her chest. Chewing her lip nervously, Quinlan’s words of warning ran through her mind again. Staring out the window, a scowl on her face, she leaned her forehead against the window facing. How could what he had said be true? The sprites would kidnap her…rape her for breeding purposes…just because she couldn’t remember being Quinlan’s wife? What kind of strange place was this?
Remembering the motherly kindness of Zelda, Taylor shook her head in disbelief. Zelda had daughters. Did she have them willingly…or did she just bare them out of a necessity to procreate? Jumping at a sharp rap at the door, Taylor turned as Zelda rushed into the room. Her spindly arms laden with an assortment of dresses, she scuttled across the floor to the long table at the base of the bed.
“Her must choose what Her is to wear tonight. Verra important to choose wisely.” Shaking her head, she eyed the dresses critically as she spread them across the bed. “All the nobles…all the aged ones as well…will be curious to finally see Her.”
Turning from the window, her mouth dropping open in amazement, Taylor stared at the vast assortment of gowns Zelda had brought into the room. “Where in the world did all these dresses come from? From what Quinlan told me…we weren’t together that long...from before.”
“The Laird…He watch over ye through the surface of the reflecting pool. He have Zelda make many dresses during years he awaits ye.” Fluffing the skirt of one of the paler silk gowns, Zelda turned to lift the lid of the trunk beside the hearth. Pawing through the contents of the trunk like a squirrel searching for a buried acorn, Zelda finally emerged from the depths; an ivory colored bustier in her hands. “All dresses have revealing neckline…Her wear this to lift Her bosoms.”
Cocking one eyebrow at the uncomfortable looking stays; Taylor held the bustier up to her waist. “I don’t know, Zelda…this looks to be awfully small. Do you really think it’ll go around my waist?”
“Is supposed to be tight…to push Her up top…trust Zelda,” assured the nodding sprite.
Still dubious, Taylor placed the silky contraption on the bed to try on at a later time. Fingering the shimmering ribbons along one of the necklines of the dresses, Taylor’s hand froze a she suddenly turned to Zelda. “Just what exactly is this reflecting pool,” she asked with a frown. “I remember Mattie mentioning something about that…the first day she and Magnus appeared.”
“’Tis a special pool…within bowels of castle. Gift to Laird from wondrous Furies.” Zelda pressed a gown the shade of gold against Taylor’s shoulders as she spoke. Her mouth curling to one side in a grimace of distaste, Zelda tossed the golden gown to the other side of the bed. “Gold is not Her color at all…make Her look sickly in the skin.” Selecting a velvety hunter green gown; she pushed it into Taylor’s arms. “Ahhhhh, the rich green of the wood…Zelda shouldha’ known Her color would be this shade. Is same color of Her eyes.”
“Zelda!” Taylor stamped her foot impatiently. “What about the reflecting pool?”
Hanging the velvety gown across a panel of the dressing divider in the corner, Zelda turned slowly from smoothing out the folds of the skirt. Her feathery eyebrows knotting into a frown, she shoved her fidgeting hands into the deep pockets of her linen apron. “Furies know would take many years to repair damage to Her soul.” Walking across the room, she picked up the dress of gold silk, folding it for storage in one of the trunks. Clicking the hasps closed, she rose slowly, her fluttering hands smoothing back wisps of her silvery white hair.
Waiting impatiently for Zelda to continue, Taylor paced restlessly across the room. Eyeing the remaining dresses still lying on the bed, her lips tightened in frustration. “That still doesn’t explain everything about the reflecting pool…”
Scooping up the dresses from the bed, Zelda piled them in a chair beside the tall wooden wardrobe. Opening the door, she paused, speaking quietly as she stared into the dark recesses of the cabinet. “The Laird has ne’er been accepted in this land that the Furies condemned him to. They couldna’ allow him back through cairn…since he is mortal…it is forbidden. Him only come through safely first time because Her is in his arms.” Placing a dress carefully on a roughly carved wooden hanger, Zelda tilted her head to one side as she straightened the shoulder seams of the dress. “But Furies not without hearts. Furies know reflecting pool help Laird survive separation from all Him know. Laird watch homeland…and Laird watch Her soul healing…could see all in reflecting pool.”
“His window to the world.” Taylor noted quietly, wondering if it were really such a good idea after all. Would it really be that soothing to see what was lost to you forever? Would it help you cope…or keep you trapped in the past…prisoner to your memories? “Mattie said that he summoned Magnus with the reflecting pool. Can he communicate with people as well?”
Hanging the last of the dresses in the cabinet, Zelda closed the tall wooden doors with a soft click. Turning, she folded her spindly arms across her chest; one pale green finger tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Laird can only contact certain few. Magnus is eternal servant to Furies…and Laird’s trusted ancestor.” Lifting the lid of yet another trunk, she lifted an armload of petticoats out of its depths. “Laird also able to contact Her in His old world…to help Her know to find Him.” Spreading the lacy petticoats out upon the bed, Zelda smiled gently as she looked up into Taylor’s face. “Laird verra happy Her is finally returned. The land and all in it will have to accept His presence here as well
.”
Perching on the side of the bed, Taylor rubbed her face with trembling hands. “I just don’t know about this place, Zelda. I never would’ve dreamed any place or any of these strange things could actually exist.”
Patting Taylor gently on the back, Zelda nodded in understanding. “Her must remember…there are many unknowns in life…many truths to be discovered. Who to say what does or does not exist? Perhaps it just waits to be found.” Turning to leave the room, Zelda paused at the door, a sympathetic smile on her face. “Zelda go to fill the hearths to warm Her bath…will return when Her water is ready. Dulcie will bring Her and the Mattie breakfast to eat while Her is waiting.”
“I thought I’d just come down to the pantry….eat breakfast with everyone else.” Taylor slid from the edge of the bed, following Zelda to the door.
Holding up her hand quickly to Taylor, Zelda glanced out into the hallway. “No! Her must stay in the room. Mattie will come here…will be much safer.”
Swallowing hard, Taylor put her hand to her throat in a vain attempt to quell the pounding of her heart. “Safer? Am I in that much danger, Zelda? Is it always going to be this way?”
Putting her hand to Taylor’s shoulder in a motherly gesture of reassurance, Zelda shook her head consolingly. “Her will be safe once nobles are certain…that Her is truly wife of Laird. Now, Zelda go to prepare bathing water. Dulcie and Mattie be here soon.” Turning, Zelda scurried out the door, closing it softly to Taylor’s paling face.
~*~
A bundle of nerves, Taylor jumped visibly as Dulcie entered the bedroom. Arching her brows in concern at her friend, Mattie reached out to pat Taylor’s hand. “Whoa there girl…easy does it. Taylor, you’ve really got to try and get a grip or you’ll never make it through tonight.”
Her head bowed, Dulcie placed the tray of delicately browned rolls and butter on the table between the two women. Grasping the small teapot with her graceful hands, she poured a brackish looking liquid into a cup. Hesitantly, placing the cup before Taylor, she whispered so softly, Taylor had to lean forward to hear her words. “Mother Zelda say will help Her to drink. Calm Her for the night ahead.” Setting the teapot down, Dulcie rushed from the room before Taylor could answer, never raising her eyes from the floor.
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