by Mac Flynn
The color drained from Bean Clatcher's face, and she spun around and bowed her head. "My apologies, my laird. I meant no disrespect-" He held up his hand and shook his head.
"None taken. I disapprove of a great many ideas held dear by my father, namely the heavy taxes that burdened my people," he admitted. He looked at each of their faces and smiled. "I plan to make my castle as a second home to those in need, though I hope my policies will care for my subjects so they will feel little need."
"What about the raids on the far end of the valley?" one of the men spoke up.
"And the poor soil at the edge of the woods?" another asked.
"And the wheat harvest being so poor?" one man commented.
Tristan smiled and held up his hands. "I won't pretend to perform miracles of agriculture, but the raids will cease so that the other concerns will be dealt with in due time."
"Did you really call upon God to aid us in the battle against those dreadful Menzies?" Bean Kerr asked him.
"I did, and god answered my prayers through my beloved," he revealed. He held out one hand to me. I took it, and he pulled me close beside him so we faced each other and the small crowd. "And you may tell everyone that god will continue to bestow his grace upon us so long as my beloved and I protect you."
Several of the group nodded their heads, and one of them men raised their fisted hand into the other.
"Long live the laird!" he cried out.
"Long live the laird!" another man joined in.
More took up the cry, and soon the whole group clapped and punched their fists into the air. Others who had come to pay their respects walked in and, learning to whom the honor of the cry was given, joined in the chant. Soon half the large throne room was filled with people who clapped and called out for the longevity of my laird.
He pulled me against his side and lowered his voice below the chant so only I would overhear. "This is all your doing, beloved," he told me.
I turned to him and blinked. "My doing?"
He nodded at Bean Clatcher and Kerr who were joined in the chant. "Your friendship brings us good fortune."
I relaxed and smiled. "And your kindness brings us good friends," I added.
He chuckled. "We should feed our good friends a deserved meal after the-"
"What is this?" a voice shouted above the cry.
The people turned towards the entrance and their cries died. They parted and allowed Father Clarke to pass through their midst. The good father's face was red with fury, and he stopped in front of Tristan with his hands balled into fists.
"What blasphemy is this?" he questioned our laird. He gestured to the coffin that stood alone closer to the pair of thrones. "You would revel in your own glory rather than pay your father his due respects?"
"I bow to the will of my people," Tristan countered.
Father Clarke turned to the crowd and frowned at them. "My flock, please remember yourselves. We are come to pay homage to our dearly departed Laird Kynan Campbell, not his son."
"But his son helps us like the old laird never did," a man spoke up.
"And we're grateful for his kindness and modesty," another commented. I recognized my good friend Maher as the speaker. He smiled and winked at me.
Father Clarke's eyes narrowed and he held up his hands above his head so his fingers were splayed out. "Pay your respects to the dead for tomorrow you may find yourself among them."
"If only because of natural causes," Tristan spoke up. He moved to stand beside Father Clarke, and he looked out on the people in the room with firm eyes. "For I won't allow any more harm to come to anyone because of the raids by the Menzies clan, nor will I raise the taxes to pay for the defense and offense."
"Offense?" someone repeated.
Tristan gave a nod. "Aye. I mean to strike them as they have struck us for far too long, and with god's help they will be vanquished."
Father Clarke looked aghast at Tristan. "God helps those who help themselves, not those who demand his assistance in war."
"I demand nothing, but know he is on our side," Tristan argued.
"Three cheers for God and laird!" Maher shouted. He punched his hand into the air and his clear voice burst over the uneasy silence. "Hip, hip, hooray!"
"Hip, hip, hooray!" Bean Clatcher joined in.
"Hip, hip, hooray!" more people shouted until the din nearly shook the walls.
Father Clarke was shaken. He bunched his hands into fists at his sides and glared at the crowd. "Mark my words that no good shall come of this!" he shouted, but none but the closest villagers could hear his words.
He pushed through the crowd and hurried from the room. I noticed Laird MacNaughton and Seumas stood beside the entrance, and the elder had tightly pursed lips. Seumas watched the proceedings with his usual strange smile, and I was not pleased when I noticed a look pass between Father Clarke and him.
Tristan held his hands above his head and the room quieted.
"I thank you for your vote of confidence, and wish to prove myself as the kind laird you wish for me to be," he called to them. "My father would wish for a small, short funeral, so now I will call off the mourning and ask that the taverns and inns be opened for you all to celebrate his life." A great cheer arose from the crowd, but Tristan quieted them with his hand. "And at the supper hour return here and bring with you your friends and a hearty appetite, for I will provide food for all who wish to partake of it."
A great cheer rang through the throne room and the crowds flowed from the room and out into the village to spread the word of Tristan's decrees and kindness. Soon only MacNaughton and Seumas remained. Tristan and I met them at the entrance, and MacNaughton stood with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed.
"It is an ill omen to be so cheerful with death. You mock him," MacNaughton scolded Tristan.
Tristan smiled and shook his head. "I do not mock him, I merely honor his task with mead and food," he corrected him.
"A very interesting break of custom, cousin," Seumas spoke up. "Some would think you cared little for your father's death."
Tristan turned to him and his smile faltered. "I care not what they would think. The happiness of my people is my primary concern. Now if you will excuse us, we have a very hungry village to prepare to greet."
They bowed their heads as we passed, but Seumas' eyes flickered up for a moment and showed a cunning that made me shudder. I pressed against Tristan's side and grasped his arm.
"They are not pleased," I commented.
Tristan chuckled. "No, I expect not, but one cannot please everyone." He looked into my face and patted one of my hands. "You needn't worry, my goddess. Tonight will seal my promises to my people, and in a few minutes the vault will seal my father."
We met Chamberlain near the bottom of the stairs. "Bury my father with as much respect and quiet as you can manage," Tristan requested.
Chamberlain raised an eyebrow. "Right now, my laird?" he wondered.
"Aye, and inform the kitchen to prepare enough meat to feed most of the village," Tristan added. "We expect a great many hungry guests."
Chamberlain bowed his head. "As you wish, my laird."
He hurried away to obey the orders, and I looked to my laird. "And what are we to do in the meantime, my laird?" I asked him.
He grinned at me. "Partake of the inn and their many meads and brews. If I am to pay for the free tap than I may as well enjoy some of their drink." His eyes swept over my form. "But first you are to change into the small white dress I had specially made for you."
I blinked at him. "But why?"
He chuckled and pecked a light kiss on my lips. "You will know in good time, my goddess."
CHAPTER 35
The day flew by as a wild dream. The village was alive with music, dancing, and feasting as the harvest celebration was melded to the old laird's funeral celebration to create a utopia of entertainment and glee. A great bonfire was stoked in the center of the village and people danced near its warm flames
. Fiddles and bagpipes were played, and the inns threw open their doors and welcomed the money that Tristan guaranteed.
Tristan and I visited the many inns along the high road, and he drank copious amounts of drink, much to the amusement and astonishment of the villagers. I was not confident in my abilities, and abstained from but a sip. Still, I indulged in many dances that lasted until night fell outside. The parties moved from the village to the castle where a great feast of meat and cheeses awaited all who gathered in the throne room. There was dancing and music there, as well, and the whole company was merry with laughter and chatting.
The hour was nearing ten when Tristan pulled me aside.
"Have you prepared yourself for this night, my goddess?" he whispered to me.
Here was the chance to fulfill the destiny my love had set for me. I would become as a goddess of old and help him to protect my family, the village, and all who dwelt in the valley. My heart quickened, but I gave a nod.
He smiled and grasped my hand. "Then be brave and follow me."
Tristan guided me to the stables where we found his black horse awaiting us. The other horses neighed and threw their heads at our passing. Chamberlain himself held the reins of our laird's horse, and his lips were tightly pursed.
"My laird, are you sure tonight is such a good night to venture forth?" he asked Tristan.
Tristan took the reins and smiled at his steward. "There will not be as good a night as this for many moons."
Chamberlain stepped back and bowed. "Then I wish you God speed, my laird."
Tristan slid into the saddle and helped me in front of him. He turned the horse towards the open doors and smiled at Chamberlain. "Do not fear for us, my dear Chamberlain. None shall harm us and we will return before sunrise."
Tristan spurred the horse and the magnificent animal leapt forward. In a moment we galloped through the doors, across the courtyard and under the arches of the gate. The horse never slowed its speed nor wavered from its path as we sped down the hill and took the first left onto the high road.
"What do you think of him?" Tristan asked me.
"He is wonderful, but where did you find such a wonderful animal?" I asked him.
Tristan patted the horse's mane and smiled. "He was a colt when I received him, a gift from my mother. I hid him away with a local farmer before my father trapped me, and had him bought back for a very fair price."
"You must have thought very well of him," I commented.
"His being a gift from my mother and his speed were not the only reasons to buy him back," he admitted. "There are hardly any steeds that will willingly carry us on their back."
"The white horse upon which I rode into battle was not bothered by me," I pointed out.
"She is also a special horse bred to carry us," he told me.
"But why do horses fear us so?" I asked him
"Because our power is that of the predator, and the horses are often the prey," he explained.
We rode the high road for a mile before Tristan turned us down one of the mountain roads that led deep into the valley. The cool night air was still and the stars glistened above us. I heard naught but the beating of the horse's hooves as we sped along our route. The road was empty, but the huts and cottages along the path puffed forth their smoke from cooking fires in their hearths and showed not all the world was covered in a deep sleep.
We traveled through glen and hollow for two hours before we reached the edge of the deep woods. The road ended at the trees and changed to a wide path of trampled grass. The old trees were thick about each other, and brambles kept unwary travelers from straying from the path. Our horse whinnied and pawed the ground.
"Easy there, old friend," Tristan whispered to him as he petted his neck.
"What is the matter?" I asked him.
"There is a very powerful and ancient magic in these woods. He can sense it," he explained. He slid down and helped me off the horse. "We shall leave him here and walk the remaining distance."
I looked to the woods and bit my lower lip. "Is it far?"
Tristan tied the horse's reins to a nearby branch and chuckled. "Not so far that you will be tired, but far enough that one can become lost looking for it."
My laird took my hand and led me into the dark woods. The branches held scant evidence of their once-plentiful foliage and any small breeze forced their thin limbs to knock against each other like bones in a graveyard. The scent of dampness and decay permeated my nostrils, and I covered my nose with my hand.
We stayed with the path for a mere ten yards before Tristan turned off. He guided me through thick brush and past old trees along a trail only he knew. A twig snapped somewhere nearby, and I clutched his hand and pressed close to him.
"Bravery, my goddess," he whispered to me.
"Is it much farther?" I asked him.
"We are almost there."
A few more minutes and I noticed a clearing ahead of us. Tristan brushed aside the limbs of a thick wild rosebush and revealed a small clearing. The stars twinkled above us as though smiling as we stepped onto the soft grass that created a carpet beneath our feet. The trees stood thick and tall around us, and created a natural wall that kept animal and man from entering but for the single entrance Tristan found.
The clearing itself held a circle made of large stones. They were tall, narrow columns that towered over us as Tristan led me into their midst. At the opposite end from where we stood arose a stone altar with a flat slab large enough for a human to lay upon. Beyond the pedestal was a roughly-cut boulder. Atop the boulder was a smooth, delicately carved statue of a wolf. Its head was tilted back to howl at the full moon that held sway in the night sky above us.
Tristan stopped us before the stone altar and positioned us so we both faced the statue and each other. His gaze settled on the statue and a soft smile graced his lips.
"Magnificent, isn't she?" he asked me.
"'She?'" I asked him.
He nodded at the statue. "The goddess of the moon."
I followed his gaze and my eyes caught on a strange oddity. The statue wore a necklace, and the necklace closely resembled the one given to me by my laird.
"My laird, why does-"
"-the statue wear your necklace?" he finished for me. He turned his attention to me and his eyes studied the necklace around my neck. "The necklace you wear is an ancient talisman passed down through countless generations. Stories tell of it being made before even people ruled these lands. The forests were thick with the ancient people of the woods who could change their shape from man to beast."
"Like devils?" I guessed.
He chuckled and shook his head. "Like gods. Gods of the ancients like those mentioned by MacLaren and his wise wife. These gods were not afar like that of Father Clarke. They were all around us, and could become us if they so chose." He grasped my upper arms and looked into my eyes. "The goddess of the wolf has chosen you to be her vessel as she chose my mother before you."
My eyes widened. "Your mother?"
He nodded. "Aye. She worshiped the goddess before she met my father, and after their marriage she became the vessel. That is why he murdered her. He could not abide that his god was not hers, and he feared the power she held inside her."
"But how can you be sure I am worthy of such an honor?" I asked him.
"Your scent is the scent of the wild hills and moors. When you first entered my chambers I thought the heather from the hills had come into the room," he told me. "Your scent hinted at something more than human, and so I gave you the necklace."
I reached up and touched the necklace with the tips of my fingers. "What does the necklace do?" I wondered.
He half-turned to the statue and gestured to the necklace. "Anyone worthy of being a vessel for the goddess is granted certain abilities when they wear the necklace. On the eve of battle we witnessed the ability to bring fog, and in the dining hall there was the gift of fire." He turned to me and cupped my cheek in his palm. His brilliant eyes glowed as the
y studied my face. He lowered his voice to a whisper that sounded like the cool wind of summer. "All of which proved that you are my god, my love. My one and only."
I blinked at him. "Your god?" I returned.
He gave a nod. "Yes. The god of the wolves is a goddess, and only a female wolf may absorb her energy and lead me on to greater victories."
"But I am no goddess," I protested.
A kind smile slid onto his lips. "But you will be, my love. The goddess of the wolves pleads for a vessel in which to store her energy, and you will be that vessel."
"Vessel? Wolf goddess? My laird, I cannot follow your strange sayings," I admitted.
Tristan clasped my hands in his and looked deep into my eyes. "The wolves are the gods of old of whom MacLaren spoke. They are the ones who have protected this valley for thousands of years, and will now do so through we two. I am one of their followers, a were-wolf, and you, my goddess, are one who will rise above me to fulfill your destiny as a goddess of the woods, a wolf goddess."
"But what would I do with this strange gift?" I asked him.
"Whatever you wish! You will be granted great speed and strength, and you will no longer need the necklace you wear to perform the miracles with which you dazzled our guests and our soldiers," he told me.
I closed my eyes and shuddered. "I. . .I fear such strength." I lifted my eyes to his and searched their depths for answers. "What if I would abuse it?"
He chuckled and shook his head. "You would not, my goddess. Anyone worthy of the power of the wolf would not have a heart to abuse the gift."
"But what if-" Tristan leaned down and pressed his lips softly against mine. I tried to deepen the chaste kiss, but he pulled away and smiled down at me.
"I have faith in you, my love. You need now only have faith in yourself to fulfill your destiny," he whispered.
I took a deep breath and gave a nod. "I. . .I will fulfill my destiny. What must I do?" I asked him.
He leaned down and his lips brushed against mine. His soothing voice thrilled me and a warm rush of heat swept over me. "Relax, and free yourself," he whispered.
CHAPTER 36
Our lips pressed together and his arms wrapped themselves around me. The familiar hot ache erupted inside my body, and I groaned into our kiss. He broke away and closed his eyes. I could see him clench his teeth as they lengthened into sharp fangs.