Triskelion

by Avril Borthiry

  A short time later, Kate's dark hair had been twisted and braided into some semblance of neatness. Her robe of fine green silk fell in graceful folds to the floor, and her dainty feet were encased in soft suede slippers.

  Without vanity, she pondered herself in the mirror, satisfied with a reflection befitting that of a landed knight's daughter. But her outward appearance belied what she felt inside and her eyes still bore evidence of fallen tears. Downstairs, the dinner-bell sounded. Kate took a deep breath, smoothed her skirt, and stepped into the upper hallway.

  An arched, stained-glass window illuminated the space at the top of the staircase. The scene depicted the triumphant return of a knight, seated upon a horse draped in the Harrington coat of arms. Crowds of jubilant people surrounded him, celebrating his apparent victory. The window was one of Kate's favourite things. As a child, she'd often sat on the staircase and looked up at it with a sense of pride and wonder.

  At that moment, an errant spear of sunlight escaped its cloudy prison and lanced through the coloured glass. Like an exploding rainbow, a multitude of jewelled lights burst into the air and bounced off the floor and walls. Kate, surrounded by a shimmering profusion of colours, gave a small cry of delight.

  “How beautiful,” she said.

  “Beautiful indeed, my lady.”

  The voice came from behind her. His voice. Owen's voice. By all things sacred, she must be dreaming again. She frowned and pinched the skin on her arm until it hurt. Nothing happened, so she rubbed her eyes.

  “Kate?” Now she felt his breath, warm against her hair. “Are you alright? Turn around. Look at me.”

  She turned, fearful of what she would – or would not – see.

  Owen stood a mere hand span away, watching her with dark, questioning eyes. His handsome face, framed by a mass of wild chestnut curls, was troubled by a small frown. A pale cambric tunic, open at the throat, sat in loose comfort across his chest. A sword rested at his side, and a small enamelled dagger-hilt protruded from his belt. She could smell the musky maleness of him. He looked magnificent. He looked like a dream. As she had on the shore, she touched her fingers to his cheek.

  “You're not here,” she whispered.

  A corner of his mouth twitched and he placed his hand over hers. “I sincerely hope you're wrong, my lady, for at this moment there's nowhere else I'd rather be.”

  A horde of butterflies leapt to life in her stomach and her lips curved into a smile of sheer joy.

  He has not left me. I have not lost him.

  She shook her head, her words stumbling over her shock. “I thought...I thought I would never... I can't believe you're still here. But how can this be?”

  He kissed her knuckles, allowing his lips to linger on her skin for a long moment. A shiver of pure pleasure ran down Kate's spine.

  Owen tilted his head toward the guest-chamber door. “Your father offered me shelter for the night and I couldn't resist.” He grinned. “I think he felt bad for threatening to skewer me. Does your ankle still pain you?”

  “A little.” She glanced down and pointed her toes, feeling a slight twinge. “But it's bearable. I'm so glad you were there to help me, Owen.” She longed to tell him about her dreams and nightmares, but didn't dare. Not yet.

  He stared at her and Kate had the distinct impression he wanted to kiss her. She caught her breath as a blush arose in her cheeks. Could he see the hopes and fears that lay in her mind and heart? Did he have any idea how much she loved him? As he bent his head to hers, a roar of laughter erupted from somewhere downstairs. It was an intrusive sound, shattering the magic of an extraordinary moment.

  Owen blinked and straightened. “I'm glad I was there too,” he said, his voice rasping. He cleared his throat, nodded toward the staircase, and offered his arm. “Shall we?”

  Another burst of laughter sounded as they descended the stairs and Kate's fingers tightened on Owen's arm. “Edgar enjoys his wine,” she said, forcing herself to smile over a sudden wave of apprehension. “Dinner might be rather...loud.”

  Owen paused on the staircase, touched his thumb to her chin, and spoke the words she had heard so many times before.

  “Don't be afraid, Katherine Rose.”

  This time, though, she was not asleep. This was, literally, a dream come true. She took a slow breath, and responded as she knew she should.

  “I'm not afraid, Owen. Not anymore.”

  Yet, despite her words, Kate's stomach fluttered as she entered the dining hall on Owen's arm. The room was the most impressive at Wraysholme, dominated by an immense fireplace set into the north wall, topped with a carved sandstone mantel. Tapestries brightened the rest of the walls and, although night had not yet fallen, a number of candles kept the approaching twilight at bay.

  John, seated at the head of the large oak table, leaned forward on his elbows, a goblet cradled in his hands and a glow of indulgence on his face. Edgar, sprawled in the chair to John's left, also nursed a wine goblet in his hand. His florid visage darkened further at the sight of Kate with Owen.

  Unsettled by Edgar's reaction, Kate pulled her hand from Owen's arm, but not before she felt his muscles tense beneath her fingers. She cast him a surreptitious glance, but saw no indication of any tension on his face. In fact, his relaxed expression bore the faintest hint of a smile.

  “Ah!” John rose to his feet, swaying a little. “My daughter and our guest. Katherine, you look beautiful. Does she not, Edgar?”

  Edgar followed John's example and stood, the frown on his face changing to a tight smile.

  “A sight to stir a man's heart,” he said, inclining his head.

  “And Owen.” John gestured to an empty chair. “Welcome to our table, young man.”

  Owen nodded and took his seat. “Thank you, my lord.”

  John grunted and turned his gaze back to Kate. “Katherine, before you take your place, you'll apologize to your betrothed for your behaviour this morning.”

  Fuelled by embarrassment, a rush of blood coloured Kate's cheeks. She clenched her fists, suppressing a flare of anger toward her father. Could he be any less sensitive? But then, he had no idea of her feelings for Owen.

  “We're waiting, young lady,” John said, raising an eyebrow.

  Kate forced a smile and dropped a small curtsey to Edgar.

  “I apologize, my lord. I behaved inappropriately earlier today, and I beg your pardon.”

  She hoped she sounded convincing enough, for she meant not a word of it. Edgar placed his goblet on the table and approached her. She smelled the wine on his breath and flinched inwardly as he lifted her hand to his lips.

  “I accept your apology, my dear,” he said. “Besides, these childish indiscretions will cease once we are married.”

  John grunted again. “These childish indiscretions will cease as of today. You may sit, Katherine, at Edgar's side.”

  Kate shuddered inwardly, yet she managed another smile as she took her seat. Owen's presence at the table warmed her heart, his quiet strength shielding her spirit with hope. She had no doubt he was there for a reason, and she believed that reason to be her deliverance from an undesirable future. After all, her dreams had to mean something.

  Perhaps, she mused, her nightmare had been symbolic, the arrow and the fallen man indicating the end of her betrothal. But what about the shadow she had seen? And the Dark One? She sought to explain their presence, but a reasonable theory remained elusive. Was she clutching at false hope and sidestepping the real truth of her vision?

  Don't be afraid, Katherine Rose.

  Whatever the nightmare's meaning, Kate believed her salvation from any kind of danger sat across from her. She shrugged inwardly and pushed her fears aside. Owen was part of her future. He had to be. It was fated – she had seen it many times. Her father, she was certain, would be made to see it too.

  Throughout dinner, wine continued to flow freely between John and Edgar as did the conversation. It seemed to Kate that Owen enjoyed the banter, although he said litt
le himself. Once in a while, she'd catch a glance and a smile from him, which always stirred a flutter of excitement in her belly. She could still hardly believe he was real.

  Meanwhile, the wine took its toll. John and Edgar behaved more and more like adolescent boys, sharing fantastical and unlikely tales of battles fought and lost. Edgar's voice, in particular, became increasingly loud and brash. As his intoxication grew, his sense of propriety diminished. Toward the end of the meal, he staggered to his feet and raised his goblet.

  “Good fortune is smiling upon me.” He swayed, hiccupped, and leaned forward, his eyes like glass. “A toast to my betrothed. I'm impatient for the day I take you to wife, sweet Katherine.” Wine sloshed over the rim of his goblet as he stroked his fingers across her cheek.

  She flinched and saw Owen shift in his chair.

  “Ah, my dear,” said Edgar, with another hiccup. “You'll soon lose your shyness after we are wed.”

  Kate looked to her father, who was watching Edgar with an odd expression on his face.

  “Papa,” she whispered. “Please.”

  “Edgar,” said John. “Might I suggest this is not the occasion for such commentary?”

  Edgar laughed as he sat down. “Forgive me, John. The wine and Katherine's beauty is a dangerous combination, for one is as intoxicating as the other. Two weeks is a long time to wait for such a prize.”

  Kate felt the blood drain from her face. “Two weeks, Papa?”

  “Aye. I spoke with the prior this morning while you were...running wild on the shore.” John glanced at Owen. “The ceremony is set for two weeks from Friday at the priory. The prior himself has agreed to officiate.”

  Kate's head swam with the news. “But...why so soon?”

  John looking down at his goblet. “I see no reason to delay, Katherine.”

  “Nor I.” Edgar gulped the rest of his wine, spilling some of it down his chin and onto his chest. He parted with a hearty belch. “God knows, I'm not getting any younger.”

  Repulsed, Kate looked to Owen, seeking reassurance. Seeking intervention. He met her glance with a grim smile, his fingers stroking the stem of his wine goblet. Did he recognize her silent plea for help? Kate sighed at her foolishness. After all, what could Owen do? Challenge Edgar right there, at the table?

  “Papa.” Kate turned back to her father. “All at once I find myself terribly fatigued. May I please be excused?”

  John leaned forward and studied her for a moment, his eyes as glazed as Edgar's. “You are indeed pale, lass. Very well. You're excused.”

  The men stood as she rose from her seat.

  “Good night, my lady,” said Edgar with a sniff. “I look forward to being of service to you very soon.”

  Kate could only nod, sickened by the implication of his words.

  She found her voice for Owen. “Goodnight, sir,” she said, managing a smile. “Perhaps I shall see you in the morning?”

  “Sleep well, my lady.” He returned the smile. “If you are risen early enough, you might see me. I'm leaving at dawn.”

  Kate nodded. Yes, I shall be risen early enough. There are things I must tell you. Things you must know.

  With some measure of relief, she all but ran from the room, overhearing her father's request as she did so.

  “Owen, we've offered you little opportunity to speak this evening. Tell us about yourself.”

  Kate paused outside the door and shrank into the shadows to listen. She, too, wanted to learn more about this man she had come to love.

  “There's no great mystery, my lords,” Owen replied. “As you know, I was born and raised in Wales.”

  “My wife was Welsh,” said John, after a pause, and Kate recognized a hint of longing in his voice.

  “How fortunate for you.” Owen's quip brought laughter from the men.

  Then John spoke again. “So, you have business at Furness Abbey?”

  “I do, my lord.”

  “May we know the nature of that business?”

  Kate leaned forward, straining to hear his response.

  “You may indeed,” said Owen. “I'm going to the abbey to take my vows.”

  Total silence lingered for a few moments, eclipsed by a sudden burst of laughter from both men as the meaning of Owen's words apparently sank in.

  “Vows?” There was a bang as if John had thumped the table. “May God forgive me. I almost killed a priest? Why did you not speak of your calling before? I might not have been so hard on my daughter had I known she was in the presence of a holy man.”

  A...priest?

  Kate fought to breathe against a wave of shock. It felt like the walls around her were collapsing, crushing her limbs, pressing on her heart. A strange roar filled her ears and the sound of her father's laughter faded away as did her hope. Despair dug its frigid claws into her soul and dragged her into a deep dark hole from which there was no escape.

  Chapter 6

  Fingers of lightning split the night as Owen strode across the courtyard. He glanced toward the distant cliffs, their pale outline exposed by the brief flashes. Thunder rolled across the bay like an advancing army, heavy-footed and relentless. Bothered by a mild sense of unease, Owen gave a firm rap on Thomas's door before stepping into the room beyond.

  Thomas, sitting at a small table, squinted at him through the meagre candlelight.

  “Owen. There you are,” he said in Welsh. “How did it go?”

  “Thomas.” Owen straddled a chair. “Well enough, I think. Fate is working for me today.”

  “The day is not yet over and fate is a fickle bitch.” Thomas gave a wry smile. “Don't tempt her. Is everyone asleep?”

  Owen snorted “You could poke John and Edgar with a spear and I doubt they'd feel it. They must have downed a barrel of wine between them.”

  “Did John question you?”

  “Aye.”

  “And?”

  “He asked the nature of my business at the abbey--” Owen grinned, “--and I'm afraid I just couldn't help myself.”

  Thomas rolled his eyes. “Lord save us. What unlikely tale did you tell him?”

  “That I'm going to take my vows.”

  “Your...?” Thomas spat out a burst of laughter. “A priest? You? May God forgive you, Owen ap Madoc. You're utterly without shame.”

  Owen's grin widened. “And utterly convincing.”

  Thomas, still chuckling, shook his head. “What did you think of Edgar? Was I not justified in my summons?”

  Owen nodded. “Edgar is arrogant, but what troubles me more is his love of wine and quickness to anger. Kate would not thrive with him. Aye, we are right to intervene.”

  Thomas grunted an agreement. “Where's Lio? I forgot to ask earlier. Did he come with you?”

  “Of course. He should be waiting for me at the cave.” Owen's mind slid back to the events on the shore. “Kate tried to climb up there this morning.”

  “Eh?”

  “To the cave, and in her undergarments no less.” He smiled at the memory. “I didn’t tell her father the whole story.”

  Thomas shifted in his chair. “Ah. I got the feeling you were hiding something. The lass has always been a bit wild.”

  “It's in her blood, my friend.” Owen sighed and looked off into the corner, seeing nothing but her sweet face in his mind. “She has an inquisitive spirit.”

  Thomas cleared his throat. “Judging by your addled expression, I'd say a vow of celibacy might not be a bad idea, lad.”

  Owen laughed. “She'd tempt the most pious of men.”

  “Did she speak to you of Edgar?”

  “Some. He frightens her, but she's reluctant to go against her father's wishes.” Owen sighed. “I was tempted to tell her why I'm here. Did you know the ceremony is already arranged? Two weeks from Friday.”

  “Aye. John's in a hurry. Edgar's a good catch for her.” Thomas grimaced. “I'm referring to his wealth, of course.”

  “It means I don't have much time.” Owen stood and stretched, frowning at
his ever-present sense of unease. “I pray John will listen to reason. Perhaps fate will help us out again. I'm leaving at dawn, so I'd better get some sleep. Goodnight, old friend.”

  “Rest well, Owen.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Owen crept down the hallway to his room, the way lit only by a fat solitary candle burning in a wall sconce. Distant rumblings of thunder continued to disturb the silence, and flashes of lightning cast flickering shadows on the walls.

  As he came to his door, a gust of air blew by him and extinguished the candle, wringing a soft curse from his lips. Immersed in darkness, he reached for the door latch and paused, the hair on his neck lifting. He squinted through the shadows toward Kate's chamber and the voice of instinct whispered in his ear.

  Something is wrong.

  Heart racing, Owen tiptoed along the dark hallway, thankful for the constant flashes of lightning. By that same light, he saw Kate's open door and drew in a sharp breath.

  What the...?

  His first thought was of Edgar, but a moment later reason told him that the drunken knight would be in no condition to do anything untoward. Hand on the hilt of his dagger, he took a quick glance behind him and entered Kate's chamber.

  Wind gusted into the room through an open window, bringing with it the smell of salt water and tidal mud. Owen held his breath as he crossed the floor, the sound of his heartbeat rising like a drum in his ears. He peered at the canopied bed, straining his eyes to see detail. A flash of lightning allowed him a moment of visual clarity and he stopped dead in his tracks, a knot tightening in his gut.

  Kate wasn't there. The bed lay untouched with the bed-curtains still open. Owen frowned as his gaze swept the room. His eyes came to rest on the open window and a terrible sense of dread consumed him.

  He strode over to the sill and leaned out, blinking against the slap of the wind to peer into the tempestuous night. As he did so, a flash of lightning ripped the darkness apart, exposing the treacherous sands that lay beyond the pale cliffs. Part way out, the sand gave way to an ominous expanse of twisting, merciless water, dragging itself from the bay in a violent tidal retreat.