Triskelion

by Avril Borthiry

  Kate broke into his thoughts, snuggling against him with another sigh. He tapped his heels to Arrio's flanks.

  Perhaps you are a witch, lass. God knows, you've wasted no time bewitching me.

  “Please don't tell Thomas about the dreams,” Kate mumbled as Arrio moved on. “And do not let my father see Lio.”

  Owen turned to the wolf who still trotted at their side.

  “Lio, away.”

  Without breaking his stride, the beast turned and vanished into the night.

  Thomas stepped from the shadows of Wraysholme's courtyard, his face a mask of relief.

  “At last,” he said, eyeing them with a frown.

  Owen looked over at the main house. “Were we missed?”

  “I think not. There's been no indication of it.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Mistress.” Thomas gave Kate a nod. “I'm glad to see you safely returned.”

  “Thank you, Thomas.”

  Owen dismounted and reached up for Kate, who slid without hesitation into his arms.

  “You must go now, my lady,” he whispered, “before you catch a chill. I won't be long.”

  She smiled, yet sadness still haunted her expression. How small she seemed, standing beneath the vastness of the night sky. Overwhelmed by a sudden need to protect her, Owen pressed a kiss to her pale cheek.

  “Go,” he said again, gesturing to toward the house. “You'll find the kitchen door unlatched.”

  He watched her walk away, noting the apathy of her stride. Her bright spirit, so evident that morning, had faded. Owen made a silent vow to revive it before he left.

  He found Thomas in the darkness of the stable, removing the cloths from Arrio's hooves.

  “So, what are you going to do now, my friend?” Thomas asked, his head bowed over his task.

  “About?”

  “Kate.”

  Owen paused. “I'm going to tell her the truth tonight. Then I'll return in a week or so and speak to--”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Thomas straightened. “'Tis plain the lass is besotted with you, and I'm not blind to your responses either. It seems this mission has become personal.”

  Owen grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. Was it that obvious? “I won't deny I find the maid intriguing.”

  “Intriguing?” Thomas chuckled. “You practically drool when you look at her.”

  “Aye, well, she's not quite so besotted at the moment. It seems she overheard our dinner conversation and believes I'm destined for priesthood. I suspect that's what prompted her escapade tonight.”

  Kate's plea not to tell Thomas about her dreams played back in his head. Thomas leaned closer, peering at him in the darkness. “And? What else? What aren't you telling me?”

  By all the saints, the man missed nothing.

  “The lass confessed some personal things to me that I'm not at liberty to share.”

  “A confession to the priest, eh?” Thomas grinned. “You didn't confess to finding her intriguing, then?”

  Owen returned the grin. “Not yet. I did tell her to come to you if she needed help, though.”

  “Good.” Thomas grabbed a handful of straw and began brushing Arrio's flank. “You'd better go and mend her broken heart, lad. Folk rise early here. Wouldn't do to be seen sneaking out of the lass's chamber. I'll see to Arrio. You still intend to leave at dawn?”

  “Aye.” A vague sense of foreboding made him frown. “Lio can stay at the cave until I return. It'll solve the problem of locating a hiding place for him near the abbey. All being well, I'll be back in a week.”

  “As you wish. Although I hope the beast keeps his jaws off the master’s livestock.” Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Or we might find history repeating itself.”

  Chapter 8

  Owen stole along the corridor to Kate’s room and found her door once again ajar. He paused on the threshold, content to spend a moment absorbing the scene before him. Circled by a halo of candlelight, Kate sat on her bed, propped up against the pillows, slender arms wrapped around her knees. The whiteness of her shift contrasted to the tumble of dark curls that fell about her in abandon. She had obviously been watching for him. Her eyes brightened visibly when they met his and her lips curled into a soft smile.

  Folly, he thought, feeling like an unarmed man stepping into a hail of arrows. He commanded his body to ignore the sweet lines of Kate's mouth, the curve of her waist, and the gentle rise of her breasts. It ignored his command as he closed the door and approached. He blessed the shadows that served to hide his desire, and sat on the edge of the bed, folding her fingers in his.

  Owen cleared his throat, trying to keep his eyes on hers. “How are you feeling, my lady?” His voice sounded forced. “Not chilled, I hope. And your ankle?”

  Kate lifted one shoulder and gave a grim smile. “I'll live. Thank you for bringing me home.”

  It seemed he was not the only one fighting his feelings. Kate's somewhat terse response did little to hide the quiver in her voice. Unable to resist, he touched his fingers to her cheek. She felt warm and soft.

  So soft.

  Her hair was still damp and she smelled of salt air and roses. Something stirred within him, something familiar and exciting. All at once, he felt as if he'd known her all his life.

  “No more wild adventures, Kate, I mean it. I may not be here the next time to rescue you from the jaws of the tide.” He gave her a smile to ease the sternness of his demand. “Or any wolves that might be roaming the sands.”

  Kate's lashes lowered and a hint of colour crept into her pale cheeks.

  “I had an overwhelming need to escape,” she said, her eyes meeting his once more. “I now realize the futility of such a venture. Please forgive me.”

  Futility? The resigned tone of her voice was not lost on him. “I have little time, lass. Will you hear what I have to say?”

  Kate nodded. “I'm curious to know what you have to tell me.”

  “What do you know of Adela? Your mother?”

  “Only that I look much as she did. I've wondered about her all my life, but my father has always refused to speak of her. You make this...whatever it is...sound so mysterious. I can't help but feel a little...disconcerted.”

  “I've told you, my lady, there's nothing to fear.”

  Unless things didn't go as planned. Owen didn't want to dwell on that possibility. He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts.

  “Adela, as you know, was born in Wales.” A sudden twinge of homesickness took him by surprise. But then, he'd not been home for a while. “A small village in Gwynedd, to be more precise. To this day, she holds a special place in the hearts of those who live there. They still share tales of her beauty and God-given abilities. She was special to them. Very special. Your mother was of royal blood, Kate, descended from an ancient line going back to the times of the dryw, or the druids as you may know them. That, of course, makes you of royal blood also.”

  Kate's eyes widened in surprise and Owen smiled at her response.

  “Adela was on the shore by the cliffs the day your father killed the wolf,” he said. “Did you know that?”

  Kate blinked and shook her head. “Oh, goodness. No. I had no idea.”

  “She'd been to the abbey with some of the other villagers, trading goods and livestock. They were waiting for the tide to ebb before crossing back over the sands. They all witnessed the confrontation on the cliffs and saw your father fall.”

  “I know that story well enough.” Kate's fingers tightened around Owen's. “Papa hunted the wolf for days. It led him all across the county before returning to its home here. 'Tis said it knew it was bound to die, and that's why it came back. Papa had it trapped up on the cliffs with nowhere to go. When Papa set his horse to charge, the wolf leapt from the cliff. Papa couldn't stop his horse in time and they went over the edge too. His horse and the wolf were killed.”

  “And it was your mother who ran to help. She had remarkable powers of healing, Kate. They say sh
e could heal with a mere touch of her hand.” Owen frowned. “I understand your father was badly hurt - close to death, in fact - and Adela saved his life. She stayed behind to look after him, promising her people she'd return to Wales once your father had recovered.”

  “But she never went back,” Kate murmured.

  “No. She never went back. The villagers felt betrayed by her decision to marry your father. They resented him for stealing her, as they saw it.”

  “That's unfair. I believe Papa loved Mama very much. I think that's why he refuses to talk about her.” Kate dropped her gaze, but not before Owen saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes. “I think it hurts him to do so.”

  “Oh, there's no doubt your parents shared an extraordinary love.” Owen fidgeted, Kate's obvious distress tugging at his conscience. “Do you want me to stop the telling? I've no wish to upset you.”

  “No, I'm fine. Please go on. I want to know everything.”

  Everything, Kate? Like how I feel right at this moment? How much I want you? Even if Edgar proved to be without flaw, I could never let him have you. Not now, my little maid. Not ever.

  He cleared his throat. “Adela's people cherish your heritage as much as they cherished hers. You are, for now at least, the last in her line. After she died, some villagers even demanded you be raised as theirs, arguing that Adela's child belonged with the Welsh, not the English. It was, of course, an impossible demand and fiercely rejected by your father. He threatened a knight's wrath if anyone made any attempt to remove you. So you were left where you were, but the villages secretly swore to watch over you and protect you from harm as you grew.” He smiled. “You've been watched, Kate. Your entire life. And lately it came to our attention that your future was threatened by this unsuitable marriage to Edgar. That's why I'm here.”

  “My God.” Kate shrank back into her pillows and closed her eyes for a moment. “I can't believe...does that mean...then, you're related to me?”

  “No, I'm not.” He'd surely be damned if he was, given his aroused state. “In truth, few of your family still live, and those who do are distant relatives. I'm here at the request of my...of a good friend who knew your mother well. I've been charged with the task of reminding your father of your heritage. He appears to have forgotten about Adela's importance to us.”

  Kate let out a ragged sigh. “I doubt he'll listen, Owen. Look how he reacted to you this morning. Besides, he likes Edgar.”

  “I disagree, my lady. From what I saw tonight, I believe your father already has doubts about this marriage. I intend to feed those doubts, strengthen them.” He grimaced. “I suspect the initial confrontation with him won't be pleasant. But he must be made to see that a union with someone of Edgar’s character is not wise.”

  “And if he won't listen?”

  “I pray he will.”

  “But if he doesn't? Papa is a stubborn man.”

  Owen shrugged. “Perhaps. But he's making a grave mistake giving you to Edgar. Whatever it takes, I'll make sure he understands that.”

  Owen saw a level of understanding creep into Kate's expression. He had, after all, just openly threatened her father. He prayed he would never have to exercise his last resort. No doubt John Harrington would die sooner than see his daughter whisked off to a remote Welsh corner. Nor would Kate, he suspected, go willingly under such circumstances.

  While he pondered, the focus of Kate's gaze shifted to some obscure part of the ceiling, her mind obviously digesting all he had said.

  “Thomas,” she whispered, turning her eyes back to his.

  “What about him?”

  “He's the one who's been watching me?”

  “Aye.”

  “Dear Lord. All these years. Papa would kill him if he knew.” Brow furrowed, Kate cocked her head, scrutinizing him. “You're not going to the abbey to be ordained, are you?”

  At last. He'd wondered when she'd get to that. Owen glanced down at her hand resting in his and allowed a small smile to drift across his face.

  “I am going to the abbey, but not to be ordained.”

  “You lied to me.”

  He shook his head, biting back an urge to laugh at the indignation in her voice that in no way matched the relief in her eyes. “I lied to Edgar and your father. You simply overheard that lie, Kate. I didn't lie to you.”

  “Then why are you going to the abbey?”

  “I have business there of a personal nature.” He kept his voice flat, hoping to deter further questions. He had no desire to discuss the other concerns in his life. In truth, he had yet to face them, accept them.

  One thing at a time.

  Kate rested her forehead on her knees, her dark hair tumbling around her. Owen ached to touch it, to touch her. But he waited, knowing she needed time to absorb all she had just been told. Her life, after all, had just changed forever. So had his, he realized. This beautiful, spirited girl had broken down all his defences in less than one day. Aye, and it had been an exquisite assault.

  She let out a long, slow breath and lifted her head. “Promise me, Owen, that you'll not harm my father. No matter what. I'll not allow it, nor could I even bear it. I would rather spend my life with Edgar than see Papa hurt in any way.”

  “Ah, sweetheart.” Unable to resist any longer, he allowed his fingers to thread through her dark curls and caress the nape of her neck. “I swear I'll not harm your father, nor have I any desire to do so. But you must understand I'm bound to protect you, no matter what. And Edgar will not have you. Not while I still live.”

  She paused, tilting her head to his hand much like a contented cat. “Well, I'm glad I know the truth about my mother and I'm very glad I probably won't have to marry Edgar, although I'm not sure how you're going to convince Papa of that.” Her eyelids drifted half-way closed and she released a soft sigh. “But most of all, Owen, I'm so relieved you're not going to be a priest.”

  Owen chuckled and surrendered the remains of his resistance, pulling her into his arms. He needed to feel her warmth, smell her sweet female scent, taste her. He needed to taste her. Just for a moment. Just for...ah, sweet heaven.

  Her lips felt so soft beneath his. He touched them with the tip of his tongue and, to his delight, they parted in response. The throb at his groin became a solid ache, all but unbearable. Kate's fingers explored the line of his jaw before winding their way through his hair. As the kiss deepened, Kate made a sound in her throat - a soft whimper of pleasure - intoxicating him like no wine had ever done. If she made another sound like that...

  Christ help me.

  Owen teetered on the raw edge of passion. With the intensity of a man long parched, he thirsted for the girl in his arms. God's teeth, how he wanted to make her his. Entirely his. And he knew, without any doubt, she would not refuse him. It took every bit of his resolve to pull away.

  “I must leave now, Kate,” he said, his throat dry. “'Tis dangerous for me here.”

  Kate blinked up at him with a puzzled expression, her lips darkened by his kiss, her cheeks flushed. “Dangerous? I think not. No doubt Papa and Edgar are still sleeping soundly.”

  He chuckled at her innocence. “'Tis not them I fear, my love. But Wraysholme will soon be stirring. I must go.”

  She sighed and dropped her forehead to his chest. “I'm so afraid you won't return, Owen. How will I bear it?”

  “I'll return, Katherine Rose Harrington. You have my word on it.” He lifted her chin, studying the shadows beneath her eyes. “Will you try to sleep a little?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I'll try. But when I sleep, I dream, and lately I'm afraid to dream.”

  Foreboding arose within him again, stronger yet indefinable, like some mysterious creature gliding beneath the surface of a lake. Edgar's disagreeable character faded away, replaced by something - or someone - far more threatening. Owen frowned, trying to make sense of it. Was the answer in Kate's dreams? Could the Dark One be real? If so, what was the connection to Kate? Perhaps he'd find answers at the abbey. There was one
there who might well know what Kate's dreams meant. If it wasn't already too late to speak with him.

  Owen pulled Kate close again. “Don't be afraid,” he whispered. “If it's any consolation, Lio is to remain at the cave until I return. The beast has a keen sense of danger. He'll keep an eye on Wraysholme.”

  Kate tensed in his arms. “No, Owen. Take him with you. If my father sees him--”

  “He won't, don't worry. Lio knows to keep out of sight. Don't forget, Thomas is also there if you need him. You have no reason to fear anything.”

  Yet his words, spoken to soothe Katherine's troubled mind, did little to soothe the unease in his own.

  Chapter 9

  Owen rode northwest along the shoreline for some distance before turning west over the bare sands. The sun gained strength early, burdening man and horse with its oppressive heat. Remnants of the tide, scattered across the bay like a thousand shards of glass, mirrored the sun's light. Ahead, mirages obscured the distant shore with shimmering illusions of water where none existed. Beyond that, another legion of thunderheads jostled for room on the far horizon, threatening an afternoon storm.

  It seemed to Owen that the air itself perspired, dampening his hair and weighing heavy in his lungs. He kept Arrio at an easy pace, not wanting to push the horse too hard as they splashed across the exposed estuary. Even so, the stallion's pale flanks darkened with sweat as the miles passed beneath his hooves.

  Meanwhile, thoughts old and new tumbled through Owen's mind. Only a day had passed since he'd met Kate on the shore, yet it seemed much longer. Her visions - if that's what they were - continued to perplex him. He didn't doubt her claims, he just didn't know what to make of them, and his feeling of unease persisted. The future, he mused, presented him with two inescapable paths: one as yet unexplored, the other approaching an inevitable, but sad conclusion.

  “While there is no immediate cause for alarm, I feel your presence at the abbey is warranted without a considerable delay.”