Heart of a Warlock [Celtic Series Book 3]

by Lyn Armstrong

“No one is leaving,” the sorceress said and walked around the bed.

  Alayne picked up the bundle from the pallet and held it against her chest.

  “Let my sister leave and I will give you what you want.”

  Suspicion entered Lady Torella’s eyes and she frowned. She lunged at the bundle. The covers unwrapped until there was nothing left.

  “Run!” Alayne screamed to her sister, but Wynda could not open the door.

  “Help!” Wynda yelled, banging on the door.

  A high-pitched laugh vibrated around the chamber, sending a chill down Alayne’s spine.

  “You thought to deceive me,” the sorceress said with merriment, her eyes changing to the color of blood.

  “Let my sister go and you can do what you will with me,” Alayne said, her voice breaking, panic stealing her composure. Tilting her head, she gathered her courage and stood in front of her sister. “Let her go!”

  The sorceress laughed again and flicked her wrist.

  From behind, her sister screamed as she rose higher into the air.

  Shouts came from the other side of the chamber door and the handle rattled. Soldiers were trying to get in.

  “Let her go,” Alayne shouted, but the sorceress kept her sister in the air.

  Wynda screamed again as she was turned upside down. The bed curtains fell to the ground, exposing her naked body. Her arms and legs flailed uselessly.

  “You should never disobey me,” the sorceress said and flicked her wrist again.

  Wynda fell, hitting the stone floor with a thud.

  Alayne ran to her sister and knelt beside her.

  The pounding on the door increased; any moment they would break the door.

  The sorceress turned to the dead knight on the ground and then glowered at Alayne, “I think a befitting punishment is to watch your clan hang your sister for this man’s murder.”

  Alayne shook her head and rose. “Nae, you must not allow…”

  The sorceress smiled and vanished.

  The door latch clicked and the Duncan soldiers filed into the chamber.

  Leaning over Wynda’s trembling body, Alayne covered her sister’s nakedness with her cloak.

  “They killed Sir Rutger!” the soldiers accused.

  Alayne looked up at her clan. Their condescending faces scowled down at her. “It was not us,” she said to them, tears blurring her vision.

  Master Gawyn Russell, the portly sheriff of Mawrth shoved through the soldiers and examined the chamber. His eyes widened when recognizing Alayne. He shook his bald head. “In the name of King James VI, I accuse you both of killing Sir Rutger Kilander.”

  “Nae, it was not us. You have to believe me,” she pleaded.

  Her sister sobbed in her arms, tucking her head into her shoulder.

  The sheriff crossed his arms in disbelief. “You and your sister are the only people in the chamber, milady.”

  “Listen to me, Wynda did not do it.” Alayne took a deep breath knowing they would never believe the truth. “I did it. I killed Sir Rutger.”

  “Take her to the dungeons!”

  Ripped from her arms, Wynda screamed. Her sister’s body was completely naked without Alayne’s cloak. Alayne tried to reach for her sister, but the soldiers held them both apart.

  “Do not touch her!” Alayne yelled at the soldiers.

  One of the men took pity on Wynda and covered her with a blanket.

  “Alayne, do not leave me,” she cried.

  “It is going to be all right,” Alayne called through tears while the sheriff dragged her out of the chamber

  “I am going to kill Alayne!” Callum threatened aloud as he ran toward Gleich castle. Sweat poured down his face and his thighs ached from pushing his legs to race through the glen. He had to get his soldiers out of bed as soon as possible. He did not want Alayne to get too much of a head start. The longer it took him to return to the castle, the further away Rhiannon was taken.

  Even though the sorceress used magick to escape, perhaps there were vibrations left on the grassy hill where they had vanished and his mother could trace them.

  His lungs were going to burst, but he ignored the strain, pushing his body beyond endurance. He passed the open gates and ran up the cobblestone path toward the keep.

  Finally, he pushed through the hall doors and found the household awake with servants and soldiers bustling around.

  His mother rushed up to him, lines of worry creasing her forehead. “I felt your turmoil. What is amiss, my son?”

  “Rhiannon has been taken. I must hurry…”

  “Wait,” his mother grabbed his arm to stop him from leaving. “Who took her?”

  Callum stared at his mother, unwilling to tell her Alayne had betrayed them—that she was not who she seemed. That she used him, pretended to have affection for him, but it was all a lie.

  “Who?” she asked again.

  “Alayne. She is the servant of the sorceress. Mother, Lady Torella has Rhiannon.”

  Suddenly a baby’s cry vibrated through the chamber. Callum and his mother swung their heads in the direction of the stairway.

  Gavenia and Tremayne walked into the hall in their nightclothes, Rhiannon fussing in her mother’s arms.

  “What is amiss?” asked Gavenia. “I sensed something was terribly wrong and then Rhiannon started crying.”

  Callum looked blankly at his mother. “I swear I saw Alayne with Rhiannon’s blanket wrapped into a bundle. I just assumed…”

  “That poor lass.” His mother shook her head.

  “Poor lass?” Callum shot back. “She lied to me, maneuvered me into bringing her here so she could … could … well, I do not know what she wanted from me.”

  “Do you not see? The sorceress expected Alayne to steal Rhiannon in the middle of the night,” his mother said.

  “What? Can someone explain what is happening?” Gavenia asked.

  “Aye, what’s this about my mother and Alayne?” Tremayne added.

  Adela ignored their questions and placed her hand on Callum’s arm. “But she did not take Rhiannon. For whatever reason, she chose to face the consequences of the sorceress’ wrath rather than give Rhiannon to her.”

  Callum turned away from his family. “I canna forgive her for deceiving me.”

  “Why would she take my baby?” Gavenia asked. “Why would anyone help the sorceress?”

  Tremayne placed his arm around his wife’s shoulders and answered, “Because she manipulates people into getting what she wants.”

  “The real question is, what did Alayne need so desperately from the sorceress?” asked Adela.

  Callum stormed away, calling over his shoulder. “I do not care. I am through with women. All they have given me is treachery and dishonesty.”

  Alayne stumbled down a step while walking into the deepest dungeon of her ancestor’s keep. Even as a child, she did not venture down these darkened corridors. If only her beloved parents knew she would be one of the foul souls caged in a dank cell.

  Two soldiers walked her into the chamber and shook their heads. The grate of the key echoed in the room and she watched them through the iron bars as they left. She looked around her ominous surroundings and shivered, rubbing the chilled skin on her arms. Except for a rusty bedpan, no furnishings warmed the empty cell.

  The room had no window, no light from the sun or fresh breeze to sweep away the putrid stench of human waste. With her back against the wall, she collapsed to the floor.

  How many men did the sheriff unjustly keep here? By the smell of the soiled rushes, there had been many. Where were they now? Dead? Tried by the sheriff to be found guilty, and then hanged?

  Alayne glanced down. Again, her hands were grimy. Heart-rending sobs burst from her heavy chest. She was in a dungeon about to be tried for murder, and all she could think of was her hands.

  Wiping her moist cheeks with the back of her hand, she raised her chin. When the time came for judgment, she would not deny her involvement. If she did, the
n doubt would be cast upon her sister’s innocence. Sacrificing her own life for her sister’s was the least she could do.

  Yet again, she must leave her little sister alone in this castle filled with intrigue and greed.

  “Oh, Wynda, I am sorry … so sorry.”

  “She cannot hear you, milady,” the sheriff’s voice rang from out of the stairway shadows and Alayne jumped. A spot gleamed on his baldhead where the single candle’s glow reflected against his skin. His kilt swayed with each step and his ill-fitted brown tunic held ale stains. “And even if she could hear from her locked chamber, Lady Wynda would not forgive ye for killing her husband.”

  “Why is it locked?”

  “In case she tries to act foolish.” The sheriff leaned on the bars. “Or to help you escape.”

  She walked to the end of the cell and turned her back on the sheriff. “Leave me alone.”

  Alayne heard his heavy steps drag along the stone floor as he walked beside her.

  “You could not just leave could you? You had to come back and ruin your sister’s life. The same life you wanted with Sir Rutger.”

  She whipped around. “I did not want him!”

  “Sure you did. However, he did not want you. And after he married your sister and took control of your lands, you killed him and destroyed your sister’s chance at a family. Your poor wee sister is now a widow with no babe of her own. Your vengeance has no boundaries,” he taunted.

  “Stop it! Stop it!” Alayne placed her hands over her ears to shut out the ugly lies.

  A dark silence stretched between them.

  She looked over her shoulder to see if he still stood at the bars.

  He did.

  His eyes glistened from a candle scone nearby.

  “Settle yourself in, milady. You will be here until the regent sends one of his nobles to judge you for murder.” The sheriff walked to the stairs. “When he finds you guilty, I will personally cut off your head. Just like you severed Sir Rutger’s head.”

  She swallowed the fear in her throat, but could not contain the meager contents in her stomach. Her head pounded like a warhorse had kicked her.

  Alayne gathered Gavenia’s black cloak round her shoulders.

  Was the sheriff right? By bringing the sorceress to Wynda, had she taken her sister’s only chance of having a family? Suspicion and judgment would always haunt her sister. No nobleman would marry her with such a tarnished reputation.

  By trying to save her sister, had she indeed destroyed her?

  God’s wounds, perhaps she had earned her death sentence after all.

  Lowering her body to the floor, she hugged her knees to her chest.

  When the time came for her beheading, she would not fight, but would instead face the axmen with dignity and honor.

  If only her trembling body had the same resolve.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Eleven

  “The armory has been restocked as requested, my laird,” said the Irish house steward. The young clerk beside him scribbled down the contents and costs of the supplies.

  Callum nodded. “Thank you. I wish…”

  The door to his master chamber opened and his mother walked through in a russet velvet gown. Callum rose from behind his table and bowed, along with the steward and clerk.

  “Your visit is unexpected, Mother. How may I be of service?”

  Adela curtsied. Facing the servants, she ordered, “Leave us.”

  Once the door closed behind them, she turned to Callum. “It has been three moons and you have yet to search for Alayne.”

  Callum sat down and shuffled several parchments. “I canna even find my own father. What makes you think I can find someone who probably does not want to be found?”

  His mother scowled. “You are as stubborn as your father.”

  “So you say.”

  “She is your chosen one.”

  “I do not believe in chosen ones. Besides, she would not want to see me. I have forgone my usefulness.”

  “So you have thought of her?”

  “Nae,” he lied. How could he tell his mother that every moment since that lying vixen left had been torture? He missed her smile, her unique scent, her warm touch. The way she made him feel like the man he used to be. Before his betrothed died. Before the sorceress.

  Adela touched his cheek. “‘Tis permissible to love her.”

  He scoffed, feeling as if an arrow had pierced his stomach. “I do not love Lady Alayne.” Nae, I would not allow it.

  A mischievous glint shone in his mother’s copper eyes. “Nonetheless, let us find out where she is. I am … curious.”

  He rolled his eyes, knowing he fell into his mother’s trap.

  Adela clapped her hands and then stood in the middle of the room. Digging her hand into a black satchel, she pulled out a handful of orange powder and sprinkled it on the floor in a circle.

  “Scrying, Mother? You planned this.”

  “Aye.” She walked behind the table to kiss his cheek. Returning to the orange powder, she closed her eyes and chanted, “I call upon the Triple Goddess of sun, earth and moon. Goddess Triana, show me a vision of Lady Alayne Duncan.”

  The air crackled with energy when a blue round light floated down from the rafters. The orb stalled in front of his mother, illuminating her face in an unusual glow.

  Little by little, the ball stretched until the vision of Alayne grew as if she lay on the floor of Callum’s chamber.

  Apprehension coursed through Callum when he realized where indeed she was laying. He shot to his feet the same time his mother gasped. “She is in a filthy dungeon!”

  “The sorceress?” he asked, his heart beating faster.

  “Widen the vision,” his mother ordered the orb.

  The picture grew larger until they could see the outside of the castle.

  Callum called, “Goddess Triana, come forth and tell me where this castle may be found.”

  A white mist floated through the window and transformed into an alluring cerulean lady. Her white hair floated around her shoulders as if she was beneath the water. Her full eyes shined completely green, her lips were painted black.

  The Goddess smiled at them both and then floated over to Callum. Her lilting voice vibrated throughout the chamber. “Before you is Mawrth castle upon the lands of Duncan. Lady Alayne awaits trial for murder.”

  Callum struggled for breath. “But how? Who did she murder?”

  The Goddess smiled and slowly faded.

  “Wait!” Callum called.

  “She is gone,” Adela said. “Goddess Triana rarely says more than you need to know.”

  Callum grabbed his sword from the rack and fastened it to his waist.

  “Where are you going?” his mother asked.

  “To petition the regent of course.” He left the chamber without turning to see the smug smile his mother inevitably wore on her face.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Twelve

  The hard, cold floor caused her lower back to ache while the putrid stench of her stomach’s contents made the abused organ churn with nausea once again. She had moved to the other side of the cell, but the smell did not dissipate. Acid rose in her throat, but she swallowed hard, trying to settle her stomach.

  The cell was silent. Deathly silent. Rarely had a guard visited her with water or food over the past fortnight. She was alone, hungry and light-headed. With no sign of her sister, she wondered how she fared alone in her room. Was her serving maid taking care of her?

  Unsure if it was day or night, Alayne rose from the floor and raised her arms in the air, stretching the knotted muscles in her back. Her mind wandered again to who would judge her sentence. Whoever it was, it would not take him long to judge her a murderer. Exiled by Regent Moray for treason, she did not have much hope for a fair trial.

  “The sheriff was right. It is only a matter of time before my neck meets the ax.” Her voice echoed in the lonely cell and she fought t
he urge to cry in despair. But she would not.

  The sound of footsteps echoed down the stairway, and Alayne raised her head. Wiping her chin, she quickly turned to face the passageway.

  The sheriff walked in with a trencher of provisions and a wooden cup. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of food.

  She remained silent, but moistened her lips with what saliva she had left in her dry mouth.

  Alayne stared at the food in his hands, her stomach burning from inside out.

  The sheriff smiled, seeming to be pleased with her discomfort.

  “Do you want it?” he asked and held the trencher closer to the bars.

  She nodded and reached out, but he pulled away.

  “What would you do for it?” His eyes glazed with lust.

  Her heart sank. He couldn’t … he wouldn’t…

  The sheriff put the trencher on the floor, just out of reach and stood with his hands on his hips.

  “Undo your laces,” he ordered.

  “You dare to assault a noblewoman?” she accused, using her haughtiest voice.

  “You are not nobility. You are a prisoner, my prisoner. And I can do whatever I choose with a murderess.”

  Alayne turned her back on him.

  He continued, “You have no rights in here milady. If you wish to eat, you will do as I say.”

  “Then I will not eat.”

  “For an extra month?” he gloated. “It could take that long for the judge to arrive.”

  Alayne closed her eyes and willed her stomach to stop growling. Her tongue felt thick and dry.

  “You will die a long and painful death from starvation instead of a quick chop at the neck. Is that what you want, milady?”

  Her hands shook from rage and humiliation, as well as hunger.

  “Perhaps your sister would be more accommodating.”

  Alayne glared over her shoulder at him. “Leave her be.”

  His eyebrows rose, mocking her. “Show me your breasts.”

  She glanced down at her yellow chemise and slowly slipped the dark cloak from her shoulders. Then with unsteady hands, she undid the laces. The stiff fabric from her white undergarments contrasted against her skin, accentuating her deep cleavage.

  “Turn around and let me see you.”